Only Light And Momentary
by tatterdemalion
Summary: Lars, for his part, has a look on his face like he has swallowed something unpleasant and it is attempting to crawl back up his throat... A chronicle of Canada’s relationship with the Netherlands, from 1611 to present day.
1. A Boy Called Home

**Title:** Only Light and Momentary

**Author:** tatterdemalion

**Characters/Pairings: **The relationship between Canada and the Netherlands will take centre stage - however, other characters involved in their relations will also appear.

**Rated:** It varies. PG-13 for now.

**Summary:** A chronicle of Matthew's relationship with Lars, from 1611 to present day.

* * *

The first time Matthew Williams meets Lars Van Rijn, it is 1611. Back then, some of Alfred's lands inter and overlap with Matthew's - back then, they were barely and fuzzily distinctive from another, two small boys growing golden under Europe's reaching hands. The charming blonde European who swings Matthew in his arms when he visits, gives him gifts and in return kills his animals for their coats, settles in the East; the stiff, proper man with the large brows has joined him out in his "new found land"; and the darker skinned European who smells of sun and fruit prowls around Alfred's lands, down south where Matthew's snow does not go.

Matthew sees another European (he looks like one from the rainy island) in 1609. He keeps an eye on the foreigner as he lands on his soil, twice, encounters shallow water up north, and leaves.

His name is Henry Hudson, Matthew learns later - and in 1611 more ships arrive, bearing on them a man like Matthew.

He looks older than him - Matthew is in the gawky adolescent years, face still round and child-like, limbs long and soft like a colt's - the cuffs of the trousers which the Europeans gave him periodically needing to be hemmed. He compromises being forced to wear trousers by letting his hair hang, untrimmed, around his face, something that annoys the Englishman, Arthur, greatly. But his hair is blonde now, like gold, and he misses the days where his body was browner, his hair darker and sleek like a polished nut.

_This_ man looks older, like a young man, though Matthew knows he is anything but - his hair is tied back like the charming European, Francis's, though it is pale blonde like spider silk. His eyes are dark grey, like the storms and winter skies that drive Matthew into tipis to hide from the noise.

He does not say anything to Matthew at first, but Matthew can tell, _can just tell_, that this man is the same as him - that, like Matthew, he does not stop breathing after many years of walking on the earth; that he is not hurt by weather or animals or hunger pains; that he too suffers for a people, a land that is himself and separate at the same time.

The man talks with the explorers for a while in a same thick, unfamiliar language. Matthew watches their ships from shore, sitting cross legged on a rock, dirtying the seat of his trousers with sludge from the sea - if Arthur finds out he will box Matthew on the ears.

The man catches his eye and makes his way over; he stops in front of Matthew, puts his hands on his hips and grins; bears his teeth in an expression that should frighten Matthew but doesn't.

"What's your name?" the man asks - his voice is almost melodic, a low hum that makes Matthew's ears colour in pleasure.

"Matthew." he answers, remembering the name the Europeans gave him - Arthur and Francis could never agree on anything but his name, and even then Francis pronounces it differently every time he is around Arthur until the Englishman grinds his teeth to the point of pain.

The man laughs. "Not _that_ one." he chides, as if Matthew has made a_ faux pas_. "That one can come and go with age. What do your people call you?"

And Matthew thinks - and he thinks _that_ name can come and go too, like the people who flow in and out, but he will always be called one thing by his people.

"My name is _Home_." he proclaims, and the man gives him an incredulous stare. Then his whole face lights up, and he laughs, extending a hand to help Matthew to his feet.

"I guess we'll stick with Matthew for now." he concludes, then adds, "My people call me the Netherlands. My name is Lars."

* * *

Lars stays for a few years, the first time, as his people chart and map Matthew's land. Arthur on his rainy island across the water, has caught wind of this and sends a long, convoluted letter to Matthew that challenges his mediocre English, expounding the dangers of associating with the Dutch, but Matthew likes Lars. He particularly likes watching Lars's face, how he lights up and laughs, how he brightens when he converses with his men, tongue going a mile a minute, how his face darkens when he is presented with a tough situation, and how his expressions are so varied and clear. Matthew spends as much time as he can with Lars. The other nation is nice enough to let Matthew sit with him by the fire, converse with him, teach him basic Dutch words - in return, Matthew leads this intriguing European into heavily wooded areas, showing him the vegetation, mapping areas the Dutch explorers could easily get lost in.

One evening Matthew creeps into the Dutch camp, hearing the songs the Dutch men sing when they are drunk, boisterous and loud, gathered around the fading fire. When Matthew inquires after Lars, the men chuckle, point off to one of the tents.

Matthew draws the tent flap to the side, bows his head to the figure lying prone on the cot inside, as he was taught to do when addressing the other country.

"_Nederlands_." he murmurs respectfully, and Lars sits up in his cot unsteadily.

"Matthew." he replies in a low, hoarse voice. "You're just like a little rabbit, you know. You always come back to kindness."

Matthew pauses. "A-are you all right _Nederlands_?" he asks.

Lars smirks - Matthew can see it in the dim light of the tent.

"I'm leaving tomorrow." Lars announces, suddenly, and it is like someone has grabbed Matthew's heart and plunged it into cold water.

Matthew steps forward, but Lars raises a hand. "Wh-why?" the young nation asks, voice cracking.

"I'm fighting Spain." Lars tells him, and Matthew vaguely remembers talk of Spain, the sunny, dangerous country that prowls and takes and clashes with England. "Back home. My people need me. I thought if I took a break from the fighting and came here with my men that everything would all right. But I need to go back." the man's shoulders shake once, twice, and then Lars straightens them.

"Come here,_ schatje_." Lars beckons with a careless flip of his hand and Matthew gladly crosses the tent floor, sinks onto the cot, flings gangly limbs around the other country. Lars nearly tips off balance - he has had too much to drink, and his body is flushed. Matthew presses his cheek against Lars's neck and feels the heat.

Lars's arm slides around his waist, draws him close. "I plan on winning." he says bitterly. He rocks Matthew as if soothing a child, and Matthew's eyes flutter closed. "And I'll come back for you. For this land."

To Matthew, it does not sound ominous - rather, friendly, and a promise he hopes the other will keep. If there is one thing Matthew is afraid of, it is being alone. Francis and Arthur have both passed through, leaving him with more people but feeling more lonely than ever now that he knows that there are others like him across the blue expanse some of his children call _samqwan_.

Lars squeezes him tighter, presses lips to his ear in what was a half-hearted attempt at a chaste kiss, and mumbles Dutch into his ear, an unfamiliar pitch and tone. Matthew vows to learn it the next time Lars comes to visit.

"_Ik beloof_." Lars murmurs, and Matthew curls up next to him and stays there, until the sun rises and Lars sails off across the _samqwan_ that has already taken so many promises from Matthew.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Schatje_ = Dutch for "baby"

_Ik beloof =_ Dutch for "I promise"

**General Notes: **The title is part of a line from Brooke Fraser's "C.S. Lewis Song" : _If the flesh that I fight is at best only light and momentary, then of course I'll feel nude when to where I'm destined I'm compared._

_"growing golden under Europe's reaching hands"_ - In my personal headcanon, I believe that Matthew and Alfred would of originally resembled their native people before colonization. Then they would have changed in appearance over the years to represent the "shift in power" happening in the New World towards the white Europeans.

Right, so, at this time....France had "New France", England had a bit of "Newfoundland" as well as a town called "Jameson", and Spain was popping up down near the Caribbean, South America, etc...

Henry Hudson, an Englishman, explored the Hudson River for the Dutch East India Company in 1609 (he was trying to find a passage to the Far East).

In 1611, more ships were sent to find a passage to China. Then, between 1611 and 1614, an area that is now in present day United States was explored, surveyed and charted by a man named Adriaen Block.

During this time the Eighty Years War was going on, which started off as a revolt against Philip II of Spain but eventually turned into a bit of a mess for the Netherlands. It's kind of implausible to have Lars in the Americas when there's a _war_ going on in his country, but I'm taking a leap of faith here.

_Samqwan _is the Mi'kmaq word for "water".


	2. Konijn

**Title:** Only Light and Momentary [2/?]

**Author: **tatterdemalion

**Characters/Pairings:** The relationship between Canada and the Netherlands will take centre stage - however, other characters involved in their relations will also appear.

**Rated:** It varies. T for now, for swearing and violence.

**Summary:** A chronicle of Matthew's relationship with Lars, from 1611 to present day. In this chapter, The Beaver Wars, circa 1645-1701.

**Warning:** In this chapter, I talk about some pretty touchy subjects. Characters in this story may also express views towards Native Americans that are not views I share with them. Please try to remember the era this story is being written in, and who's point of view it is being observed from.

* * *

The second time Lars visits, he turns Matthew's world upside down.

The Netherlands is jovial when he returns to Matthew's lands, in the 1620's. Though he looks a little more haggard (from the war with Spain, he admits, which is _not going that well_, Matthew, _stop asking_), his mood is light; he whistles folk tunes when he swings Matthew around; pats his cheek; gives him _salmiakdrops_ to try. He laughs heartily when Matthew makes a face and only refrains from spitting the salty treat out for fear of offending the other country.

He is happy to see Lars but then Lars starts stirring up trouble.

Matthew hears about it when he is staying with Francis in New France. Francis is getting along well with a tribe of Matthew's children, whom he calls the Huron, and Matthew is pleased that he can make Francis happy with furs and trade. He hears news of some of his other children fighting amongst themselves - the smaller of the two, the Wenro, lose their territory to the Iroquois, and the Wenro flee to the Huron. Matthew feels uneasy when he hears this, though his children have clashed before, even before the foreigners had come.

In 1641 Lars appears in New France - in Trois Rivieres to be exact, along with several Mohawk. When Matthew sees him, he is excited that the Dutch have made friends, too, and he hugs the tall blonde joyfully until Francis clears his throat with sharp precision and inquires about Lars's business.

They retire back to Francis's office to talk privately, leaving the Mohawk behind. Matthew is brought along, something that makes him feel like a grown up. Francis pours Lars a drink out of politeness and waits.

Lars explains that the Mohawk have come to propose peace with the French, _i__f_ the French will agree to set up a trading post in Iroquois territory. To Matthew, it is wonderful news - peace between both old and new children, trade across his lands, prosperity for all!

"No." Francis says, almost immediately after Lars finishes.

"Why not?!" Matthew demands from his chair by the window, and both men turn to him quizzically, as if they have forgotten he is there.

Francis looks angry at the interruption. "Mathieu, _tiens-toi bien_!" he commands. Lars has a triumphant look on his face.

"Listen to the little one." he urges. "All he wants is peace. Right, my little _konijn_?"

Matthew nods his head enthusiastically, and Lars laughs as if he has won something. Francis scowls at his colony.

"Mathieu, please wait outside." he orders, using a tone that Matthew has learned not to argue with.

Matthew sulks outside for a bit, kneeling by the open window, listening to Lars and Francis talk.

"...doesn't know anything about you, but _I_ do." Francis is in the middle of saying, laughing bitterly and pacing the floor. "Tell me, since your savage friends haven't been giving you enough furs, did you encourage them to seek more in _my_ territory?"

"Come, Francis." Lars says boldly. "What if I just wish to strengthen our relationship?"

Francis does not look convinced. "Ah, and I suppose stealing my furs is "strengthening a relationship" to you Dutch?" he does not wait for an answer. "I will still say no. I have an alliance with the Huron - to erect a trading post would be to betray them, and I need them."

Lars tilts his head. "Are you sure?" he asks.

"Most certainly." there is a strained pause, a brief scuffle, and when Francis speaks again his voice is low and dangerous. "And please try to remember that Mathieu is not "your" _anything_."

Lars's voice still contains mirth - which is hard, Matthew realizes, peeking over the edge of the window, when someone has you pinned against a table. "Times change, _France_." he informs the other European nation. "New Netherlands is getting stronger."

"Not strong enough." Francis snorts. "This is not, and never will be, your land. Take your savages and get out of my sight."

Lars laughs; Matthew ducks down under the windowsill to avoid being seen. Soon Lars rounds the corner looking for him, and smiles when he finds him guiltily squashed up against the house.

"The little _konijn_ has big ears." he observes, and Matthew splutters and apologizes for eavesdropping. Lars shakes his head, holds out his arms, and Matthew gladly stands and sinks into them.

"I'm sorry Francis won't trade with you." Matthew murmurs into Lars's shoulder - he is still a few infuriating inches shorter than the other man. Lars runs a hand soothingly up and down between Matthew's shoulder blades.

"Don't worry about me, _konijn_." Lars declared. "I'll be just fine."

Matthew believes him and leans into his embrace.

* * *

Matthew does not think of himself as a naive country. No matter what the Europeans say about his level of civility, he was conscious for a long time before they ever landed on his shores, and he has seen his fair share of brutality, starvation and hardships.

This is foreign to him, when Francis brings him in close one day while they are having supper, touches his face and tells him that the Huron, his allies, are being attacked by the Iroquois.

"Why?" Matthew asks. "Because of the furs? Because you won't help them?"

Francis frowns. "Do you think this is my fault?" he asks, voice dangerous. Matthew does not catch the inflection.

"Well, why else would they be attacking?" he continues, tilting his head as Francis slides a hand into his hair. "My people are reasonable, they don't just attack people for no reason - _ah_!"

The hand in his hair tightens and Francis hisses, "Oh, there is a _reason_ behind their attack, Mathieu, and it is a _Dutch reason_."

Matthew untangles himself from Francis's grip, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Dutch?" he repeats. "What does Lars have to do with it?"

Francis laughs. "Everything, _mon petit_." he snarls. "Everything."

Matthew does not understand. Lars is strange, yes, but he is kind, and he cannot imagine Lars telling Matthew's children to attack Francis. The Iroquois continue to attack the Huron in quick, brief, raids, disrupting trade with the French, and eventually Francis calls for peace.

It has taken New France four years, but no matter - Matthew will have peace gladly. He is not supposed to be at the meeting between the Iroquois and the French, but he goes anyways, hiding in the trees, hoping to see Lars (Francis has been oddly strict about Matthew crossing the Dutch man's path). Lars is not present, but Matthew witnesses Francis shaking hands with one of the Iroquois leaders and his heart swells.

The French have agreed to trade with the Iroquois, and when Francis leaves for Europe in the autumn after he looks grimly happy. He kisses Matthew on both cheeks and warns him, again, to watch his footing around the Dutch.

By next summer the Iroquois resume their attacks, and this time the French retaliate with help from their Huron allies. Matthew feels like the breath has become stuck in his throat - he has heard nothing from Lars, has not even seen the man since 1641, and as the sides clash he hopes this will not escalate.

This is tiny, this is nothing, he chants in his head as the Huron go to the Susqehannocks for help and the Iroquois retreat into their Confederacy.

Small things happen, little battles that never go anywhere. The people of New France are worried about the raids, and Matthew does his best to comfort them in Francis's absence.

One winter night in 1648 Matthew is awakened by screams and shouting and _gunfire_. He leaps out of bed, stuffs himself into his boots, grabs the rifle that both Arthur and Francis taught him how to use, _'but only in strict emergency, Matthew, you understand?'_

He is staying in Huron territory, with some Jesuit missionaries from Europe, and as he burst out the door he sees his people fleeing, moving away from the forest that borders the town. He can see figures slinking out of the woods, Iroquois, his own children against each other, holding weapons, guns that reflect the moonlight and fire quick and mercilessly. People fall - _too many, too many_, and Matthew clutches at his head as a bullet whizzes by.

This is wrong, so wrong, where are Francis and Arthur and, and Lars? Who has given Matthew's children guns so they can take their anger out on others? Anger and hurt and sadness blind Matthew and he stumbles behind the little house he is staying in, collapsing in the snow and pressing his face to the ground as the noise around him swells in a horrible crescendo.

In the morning missionaries and Huron alike lie dead under the morning sun. Those who are not dead have fled, the Iroquois nowhere to be seen. Matthew packs warm clothing and food that he found in the abandoned village houses, and follows the footprints of the Iroquois. There is blood mingled with the indentations - casualties on both sides. Matthew knows as well as his people how to hunt and farm and track, and he follows them for days, on their heels, trying to _understand_.

He follows them southerly to their lands, where they stop and converse with white men, exchanging and buying goods. Matthew's heart stops in his chest when he sees the Iroquois handing coin to the men in exchange for bullets and guns. This feeling is amplified when he catches sight of Lars, bundled in a large coat and fur hat, standing cheerfully to the side, chatting to his men.

Matthew emerges from the trees, shocked and sick. "_Nederlands_?" he asks, quietly, and Lars's face lights up when he turns to face him.

"_Konijn_!" he greets, holding out his arms. Matthew does not run into them; instead he steps towards him with careful feet.

"What are you doing?" Matthew demands. Lars cocks his head.

"Trading!" he exclaims as if it should be obvious - his tone is light but those grey eyes watch Matthew with steady concentration.

"That....you're selling them _guns_." Matthew manages. He doesn't add, _guns that killed **my people**_, though the message is clear enough in his words. "Why are you fighting the French?"

Lars takes his elbow and leads him to the edge of the trees, out of ear shot. "_I'm_ not." he offers, a look in his eyes of satisfaction and cockiness. "My men are doing nothing. It's the Iroquois that are attacking your precious '_papa_'."

"_You_ are giving them _guns_!" Matthew screams out, suddenly, hot fury and panic and absolute betrayal coiling in his chest, burning a hole through his heart. Lars looks startled at his violent outburst. "That's just as bad, you are just as responsible, I - I - "

A hand claps over his mouth, squeezing against his teeth and Matthew clenches his jaw as Lars looms over him, eyes sharp as flint.

"Quiet." he orders, his voice a rumble of thunder, and Matthew trembles. "Quiet, you troublesome little boy. Don't speak of things you don't understand."

Matthew only understands the feeling of blood on his soil and the constant pressure in his ears as his children squabble and fight and move around. From this he understands that what Lars is doing is _wrong_.

"How could you?" he demands when Lars removes the hand. "How could you do this to me, I thought - "

_What_? Lars's eyes seem to ask. _What did you think? You are new land, new and uncharted, and don't think that just because people are flocking to you now, that you are **loved**. You are **new**, but what is new will eventually fade._

"You've killed me." Matthew says finally, gazing back at the sight of those monstrous rifles in the hands of his children.

"Don't think that your people are completely innocent either." Lars murmurs in Matthew's ear. "They're the ones who take the guns and shoot." he looks smug when Matthew flinches away from him.

"I - I hate you." Matthew manages, spitting the words out at a man he once admired. "I want you to leave and never come back! If you do, I - I'll kill you!"

"Matthew - " Lars begins, laughing, but Matthew shoves him away, ferocity radiating in his eyes.

"I swear I will!" Matthew snarls, and before Lars can say anything he whirls around and flees back into the woods, the only thing now that can give him comfort.

Wyandot blood is fresh on his soil; the memory of the Chonnontons has been stamped out under angry feet, the Erielhonan weeded out. And all for what?

Matthew still does not _know_.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Tiens-toi bien!_ = French for "behave yourself!"

_Konijn_ = Dutch for "rabbit"

**Historical/General Notes:**

_Salmiakdrop_ is a salty licorice drop popular in the Netherlands. Personally I take a perverse pleasure/pain in eating these things, since it gives me a feeling like I've just inhaled salt water, and it stays in my nose for ages. However I do quite like them once I get past the...y'know, the _salt_.

Okay, so I'm pretty surprised that I have never come across a Hetalia fic about the Beaver Wars. I mean, it was a pretty brutal war and a very good example of the European influence.

_So_, here's the story. The Dutch are stilling milling around the Americas in New Netherlands, having a good laugh, drinking some beer (look, I don't know, bear with me). They were important trading partners with the Iroquois Confederacy, a group of Native Americans made up of about five nations, including the Mohawk nation. Around 1630, the source of furs for the Iroquois began to decline because of several of their neighbors. They attacked the Wenro, their neighbors to the west, in 1638 and forced them off their territory. Now, on the other side of the Wenro territory were the "Neutral" tribe (also known as the Chonnonton) and the "Erie" tribe (also known as the Erielhonan). Those tribes were much bigger, so the Iroquois couldn't expand west in search of more sources of furs.

Since the Dutch traded heavily with the Iroquois, they actually encouraged the Iroquois to try expanding North, into French territory, and in 1641 the Mohawks made a trip to New France to ask for peace with the French - providing, you know, the French set up a trading post on their land.

At this time New France was thriving, and _they_ had made an alliance with the Huron, or the Wyandot. The governor of New France said, "no, thank you" to the Iroquois because of their alliance with the Huron people, and soon afterwards the Iroquois began launching attacks on Huron frontier towns, trying to mess up trade between the French and the Huron.

_So_, the French are SO NOT COOL WITH THIS AT ALL. In 1645 they try to arrange peace. They're like, "look, okay, cool down Iroquois. We'll trade with you guys, yeah? Just take a chill pill". So the following summer a HUGE ASS FLEET of Iroquois canoes carrying furs arrive in New France, but the French refuse to purchase the furs and say that the Iroquois must sell them to the Huron. It was a sort of middleman thing, and the Iroquois were not pleased with this.

So they resumed attacking the Huron. The French didn't like this reaction, so they decided to become involved in the conflict. By this point the Hurons and the Iroquois were pretty evenly matched in numbers, and for a while the fighting continued on and off in little scuffles here and there. New France was raided a couple of times, and many people were extremely frightened of the Iroquois.

_Here_ is where shit hits the fan. The Dutch, who had encouraged Iroquois expansion, sold the Iroquois guns in 1648, selling them directly to the nations instead of through traders. That winter, Iroquois warriors were sent into the woods in Huron territory, where they promptly attacked many villages and killing thousands, including some Jesuit missionaries. The ones they didn't kill were brought back as prisoners and assimilated into Iroquois culture. Some Huron managed to flee and seek assistance from a friendly confederacy, and with the Huron gone the Iroquois now controlled a territory that was extremely rich in furs.

I stopped the story there, but it got worse. By the time the war was over, the "Neutral" or Chonnonton tribe had been completely destroyed and the "Erie" or Erielhonan tribe had been decimated, with the remaining survivors assimilated into other native nations.

This war continued on for a very long time, with the French counter attacking, with other tribes getting involved - even the _English_, who moved into Dutch territory in the early 1680s, got involved, giving the Iroquois firearms like the Dutch had and encouraging them to disrupt French activity.

Eventually in about 1698 the Iroquois realized that WAIT the English were becoming a bigger threat than the French, what with their rapid colonization beginning to threaten the Iroquois borders. At the same time the French began to think that they were NEVER going to be able to beat the Iroquois, and tried to become more friendly with them.

They signed a treaty in 1701 along with the English. It took _until 1701, you guys_! I'm giving you the quick and dirty version of this event, but it was staggering and monumental and really a very unsettling and bloody war. I highly recommend you reading up on it if you don't already know about it, it's fascination and depressing at the same time. Entire tribes and cultures were wiped out because of this. I really wanted to show how Matthew, despite the fact that tribes and confederacies were often at war with one another, would be so terribly confused and unprepared for something so brutal and almost European-like, especially when the guns were thrown into the mix. The Dutch, for their part, kinda sat back and laughed and then went away, so Lars's part in this is not as integral as I made it seem to be - however, I think Matthew would have felt so betrayed when he realized that Lars was encouraging the Iroquois's actions.


	3. Acadie

**Title:** Only Light and Momentary

**Author:** tatterdemalion

**Characters/Pairings:** The relationship between Canada and the Netherlands will take centre stage - however, other characters involved in their relations will also appear.

**Rated:** It varies. T for now, for swearing and suggestive material

**Summary:** A chronicle of Matthew's relationship with Lars, from 1611 to present day. In this chapter, the Dutch Occupation of Acadia, 1674-1678.

**Notes:** So, this always happens guys. I get excited about a story, I update every day or two. Then as I get busier the updates slow...but! This story is proving itself very easy to write, so I'm hoping I can get this finished up pretty painlessly. Fingers crossed!

* * *

A man is planting bottles. Matthew is confused. He watches as the other bends over, places a bottle in the hole that he has dug, and then shovels dirt over top of it.

"_Qu'est ce que vous faites_?" he asks hesitantly. The man swivels his head around to look at Matthew, and grins toothily.

With one hand he gestures to the area around them with triumph. "_Nova Hollandia_." he says matter-of-factly. Matthew blinks, and looks around.

"_Non_." he says gently. "_Ce, c'est Acadie_." And this _is_ Acadia, Fort Pentagouet to be exact, and Matthew still does not understand why bottles are being planted until the man beckons to someone behind Matthew and he is instantly seized.

Matthew lets out an exclamation and twists in his captors' arms, but he is dragged back to the Fort and thrown into a cell with a group of surly French soldiers.

Talking to them, Matthew gleans that this stranger is a Dutch sea captain, who had barged in and overwhelmed them quite easily and proclaimed that Acadia now belonged to the Dutch. It is a silly, arrogant claim and Matthew's ears burn at the very thought of it. Confidently, he tells himself that Francis will not stand for this, and will come to right everything very soon. Inside, he is less sure. Francis is in Europe, fighting another battle that Matthew knows little about, and the colony has not forgotten what he said to Lars all those years ago. He wonders what Lars is doing right now.

In the late afternoon the man from before, Captain Aernoutsz, comes in, speaking to someone out of Matthew's vision. They laugh, and Matthew registers the door closing before he hears footsteps.

Lars steps around the corner, a teasing grin lifting the corners of his mouth. "Well, well, isn't this an interesting situation?" he asks, and Matthew's vision goes red.

"You bastard!" he yelps, on his feet in a second and pressing himself against the bars. The man assigned to watch the prisoners jumps forward but Lars holds up a hand to stop him.

"You've gotten a little taller." Lars notes, before addressing the guard. "Let him out, I'll deal with him."

"No you won't!" Matthew hisses, but the guard pays little attention to him, unlocking the cell and allowing Lars to pull Matthew out by his forearm. Matthew struggles, and as punishment the guard hands Lars a pair of manacles and Matthew's arms are secured behind his back.

It is only when Matthew starts swearing in French that Lars's cheerful smile flickers.

"_Zwijgen_." he tells the little colony firmly, then leads him out of the cell and across the fort to the military offices. There, he dumps Matthew on a small cot and moves off to the other side of the room, where he has set up a desk for himself.

Lars seats himself at the desk, humming something under his breath as he takes out a pen and begins writing something.

"Aernoutsz tells me that your Fort was very easy to capture." Lars remarks; though his back is away from Matthew, the younger can hear the smile in his tone. "Perhaps I will prove Francis wrong after all when I call you _Nova Hollandia_, hm, _konijn_?"

Matthew does not say anything - he has gotten to his feet silently, approaching the man from behind. When Lars turns, about to say something, Matthew pounces on him, making up for his lack of hands with his teeth.

The scuffle does not last long - Lars shoves him onto the floor and pins him there with his boot. Matthew writhes under him, panting. "I will drive you out!" he hisses. "I don't want you here!"

Lars looks unimpressed and crouches down beside him. "You think you're important enough to tell people what they can and can't take from you?" he asks. "You are not a country, _konijn_. You have no say in anything."

"I - I _do_ have a say!" Matthew protests, still squirming on the floor. Lars sneers.

"Oh, so you want to be like a country, hm?" he asks, hauling Matthew to his feet. "Is that it? You want to be treated like a country?"

"I _am_ a country!" Matthew shoots back. Lars laughed.

"You are far from it." he counters with a disparaging look. "But, if you really want to be treated like a _country_, I can "invade" you in the way those old nations of Europe do."

Then Lars pushes Matthew down so the boy is on his knees in front of him. Matthew stares at the front of the European country's trousers, and for the first time feels a spark of fear.

He is not completely innocent - he _has_ heard of these things from Francis, and stories from his people about what men and women do, but the absurdity of Lars's statement causes him to stare blankly ahead.

"If I am a country I - I have to do this?" he whispers, fearfully. Lars slips a hand softly into Matthew's hair, petting him. Matthew resents the implication.

"Has France not told you how they play over there?" he whispers - the hand in Matthew's hair slips down the side of his face. A thumb brushes his lips, and without thinking Matthew parts them.

The thumb slips a little (accidentally or on purpose? Matthew can't tell, he is not looking at Lars's eyes), sinking past Matthew's lips, and the man above him gasps when it touches the tip of Matthew's tongue.

His reaction surprises Matthew - the younger blonde frowns, raises his eyes to take in Lars's face.

Lars is looking back down at him; that sneer that he has worn in the past is gone, revealing the clear, friendly face Matthew remembers from the first time they met, and his eyes are startlingly soft. Matthew slides his tongue forward a bit more, and Lars does not remove his thumb.

"I would not do such a thing to you," Lars says, dropping to the floor in front of Matthew and gathering him in his arms. "I would not subject you to that." he mumbles something else that sounds like, _though I am tempted_.

Matthew pretends not to have noticed. Hands still cuffed behind his back, he nuzzles Lars's shoulder.

"I am sorry." Lars says finally. "For...for everything. For the _H-Haudenosaunee_." the Dutch nation stumbles over the other name for the Iroquois, but to Matthew it is sincere and tender. "You and I, Matthew, we do not see eye to eye on many things. And for that I am sorry, as well."

Matthew does not say anything; he neither forgives him nor rejects his apology, and Lars does not expect him to do. One apology will not wash away years of fighting. Though it is a start.

Lars presses his face into Matt's neck before releasing him.

"I'll uncuff you," he begins warningly, shaking a finger at Matthew. "But I will expect you to behave yourself. You have quite a vicious bite."

Matthew laughs, then winces and apologizes. Lars removes the manacles, give Matthew's wrists a quick, apologetic rub. He leads Matthew to sit on the cot while he finishes up his documents.

It is like old times, at Lars's camp - Matthew is taught how to play _Jass_, and when the sky darkens he curls up on the cot and Lars tells him stories from his homeland - about _Kinderdijk_, and Reynard the fox. Matthew giggles and tells him that Lars's Reynard is like Matthew's Napi; at this, Lars smiles and pats his head.

But it is _not_ old times, and both of them are aware of that. Matthew is cognisant, now, of that other side of Lars, the one who sneers and whose eyes get stormy and who speaks of things Matthew barely understands.

Matthew asks if Lars, like Francis, kisses friends on their cheeks when greeting each other. Lars nods and tells him yes, but usually the men shake hands. Matthew, for his part, secretly thrills when Francis kisses him - it makes him feel important, if only for a second.

Lars relents under his pestering, and when they bid each other goodnight (Matthew will take the floor, Lars the cot), Lars tells him that they will kiss three times. Matthew thinks he understands; he places his lips against Lars's right cheek, then his left. He does not know where to put the third one, so when Lars comes close again he kisses him on the mouth.

Lars freezes. Matthew pulls back a little bit, nervous, an apology already started, but Lars tilts his head, slides a hand to the back of Matthew's neck and closes the small distance between them again, eyelids dropping so his grey eyes are merely slits. His lips are soft and warm against Matthew's and he tastes salty, like _salmiakdrops_. Matthew murmurs into his mouth, presses closer, and that is when Lars seems to remember himself. He pushes Matthew away, hands on his shoulders, breathing a bit more noticeable. Matthew feels hurt, and it must show - Lars pets his head, soothing him.

"Sorry." he apologizes. "I got...carried away. That is _not_ how Dutch people say goodnight."

"Oh." Matthew turns red with embarrassment. "But where does the third kiss go?"

Lars tries to hide his amusement behind a serious face - instead, he reaches out and taps Matthew's right cheek with a finger. Matthew catches the finger, kisses its tip, and lays it against his cheek again, eyes fixed on Lars the entire time.

Lars shivers, then ever so slowly slides over Matthew, forcing the younger boy down onto the cot.

"I have wanted you," Lars tells him, kissing the underside of Matthew's jaw, "since 1624. I have wanted you for more than just your land."

That sends pinwheels of warmth soaring through Matthew's stomach - this is the first time someone has told him that they want _Matthew_. Not Matthew's furs or Matthew's woods or Matthew's vast space. Just Matthew, and he beams a trusting smile up at Lars. Lars reaches down to smooth away Matthew's bangs.

"But I can't do this." he tells Matthew, then sits up, drawing his long, pale limbs to the far end of the bed where he sits, perched, watching Matthew with his grey eyes. "Not now. You are too young."

Matthew bristles, and is about to tell him that no, he has been there since Skywoman fell from the heavens and found the Great Turtle (though his memory is fuzzy and his borders more so) but Lars stops him.

"Your land may be old, _konijn_, but your mind is not so much. Tell me, do you even know what two men can do to pleasure each other?"

Matthew informs him that he thinks kissing is rather nice. He pouts when Lars laughs at him so hard he has to wipe tears from his eyes.

"Too precious." he chides, pressing a palm to Matthew's cheek. "I am glad Francis has not managed to rub off on you. I hope you stay that way until the next time we meet."

Matthew frowns. "You're leaving?" he asks, and Lars smoothes his hair down.

"I need to return to Europe." he explains. "Aernoutsz will take your soldiers with him when he leaves for Boston and will release them there."

"I'll miss you." Matthew tells him honestly, and Lars smiles.

"I'll miss you too." he admits. "But I really think you're going to make it, _konijn_. I don't know how long it's going to take, but one day you're going to be your own. You are going to stand up for yourself and people will notice you as a _country_."

Matthew's eyelids flutter rapturously at Lars's words. "You really think so?" he whispers.

"I promise." Lars says. This has the reverse effect on Matthew, who opens his eyes to shoot a heated look at him.

"Don't promise." he declares. "Europeans never keep their promises."

At first he is afraid he has offended Lars - but eventually Lars chuckles.

"I suppose I deserve that," he admits. "All right, then. I believe it. From my heart."

Matthew looks sleepily content at his words, and Lars is feeling generous enough to let the colony curl up on the cot. He kisses his curls and slips down onto the floor, where he unrolls a mattress from under the cot.

The next morning when Matthew wakes, Lars has already left. Matthew does not feel _too_ bad - around his neck is fastened a short chain, one that was not there before.

On the chain is a little pendant. An iron rabbit.

* * *

_Netherlands,_

_I don't know what in the Holy Mother's name you think you are doing, but your little stunt does not change anything. If I wasn't so busy stopping your little boats, I'd tell you to not even bother. Acadie is mine, Mathieu is mine, and just because you have taken two forts does not change anything._

_Yours,_

_France_

* * *

_France,_

_Maybe you should keep an eye on your precious little colony. I will see you at Kijkduin._

_Yours,_

_Netherlands._

_

* * *

_

**Translations:**

_Qu'est ce vous faites?_ = French for "What are you doing?"

_Nova Hollandia_ = Dutch for New Holland

_Ce, c'est Acadie_ = French for "This, this is Acadia"

_Zwijgen_ = Dutch for "be quiet"

**Historical Notes:**

In 1674 a Dutchman, Captain Jurriaen Aernoutsz, and his men captured Fort Pentagouet in Acadia, as well as another fort in Jemseg. He buried bottles at each fort with messages inside proclaiming Acadia as belonging to the Dutch. He sailed back to Boston with things he stole from the forts, as well as prisoners, and left them there. Eventually he was caught and tried as a pirate, but ultimately released. The Dutch _claimed_ on paper that Acadia belonged to them, when in reality it was still under French control. The Dutch-Franco wars were going on at this time, and when the peace treaty was signed in 1678, the Dutch withdrew their "claim" on Acadia.

_Jass_ is a trick-taking card game from the Netherlands. God help me, the only thing I can play is Go Fish when it comes to cards, so if you want an explanation, you should Google it! It looks quite fun.

_Kinderdijk_ is Dutch for "child's dike". During the Saint Elizabeth flood of 1421, there was a story that after the storm subsided a man went to the dike to see the damage. He glimpsed a child's cradle floating on the water. On it was a cat, jumping from one side to the other to keep the cradle balanced, so no water could get in. Once it got closer and the man was able to fish it out of the water, he discovered there was a child inside, asleep and oblivious to its surroundings. They were the only survivors. Apparently the place where the cradle hit land is where the town of "Kinderdijk" is today!

Reynard the trickster fox is originally from France, though his influence spread to England, Germany, and the Netherlands.

Napi is a trickster from the lore of the Blackfoot; he is also known as "Old Man". When I was a child my favourite book was one called, "Napi Stories", a compilation of mostly "origin stories" - why baby birds have big red mouths, why bobcats have short tails, etc... Napi as a trickster is at some points clever and wise, and at others quite rude and frightening. I think when I was little the name I called him was "jerk".

The "Skywoman" Matthew mentions is from the Iroquois creation story. According to them, in the beginning Sky People lived in the sky since there was no earth below. Then a woman fell to the earth below and landed on the back of a giant turtle. Eventually that turtle became the land.

"_If I wasn't so busy stopping your little boats..._" - Francis and Lars are referring to the Battle of Kijkduin, a naval battle in the Franco-Dutch Wars, which ran from 1672 to 1678. Spoilers? The combined forces of French and English tried to invade the Netherlands but were totally thwarted. Then England pulled out of the war XD So, Francis was very busy _trying _to stop Lars's little boats...


	4. Love Like Earth

**Title: **Only Light and Momentary

**Author:** tatterdemalion

**Characters/Pairings:** The relationship between Canada and the Netherlands (OC) will take centre stage - however, other characters involved in their relations will also appear.

**Rated:** It varies. M for this chapter, for sexual situations.

**Summary:** A chronicle of Matthew's relationship with Lars, from 1611 to present day. In this chapter, the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1824, and then some random time in 1870 that has nothing to do with any Canadian-Netherlands relations and just a ploy for sexings

**Notes: **For some reason, I watched Madonna's documentary on her 2004 tour while writing this...I wonder how that'll affect my writing...

* * *

In the beginning, some of Matthew's children say, in the beginning there was Old Man.

In the beginning, Matthew's children say, there was nothing but water. Old Man floated on a raft with some of his animal friends. One day, Old Man asked his friend, Beaver, to dive down to the bottom of the water and bring him back some mud. Beaver tried, but failed. The water was too deep. Old Man asked Loon and Otter the same thing, but they both came back empty handed.

Then Muskrat said, "I will go and get some mud for you," and dived down. He was gone for a very long time - but when he surfaced again there was a little ball of mud in his paws.

Old Man waited until the mud dried, then scattered it over the water and land was formed.

Matthew does not forget this, and it gives him a tugging in the pit of his stomach when he thinks that, that is all there is to him - earth on earth on mud on dirt on rock on deep, deep water.

He was created out of mud. But mud cannot feel pain like he does when the Iroquois rage onwards in their battle; mud cannot cry like he does when Francis signs him over to Arthur and he is smacked firmly for speaking French; mud cannot feel horrible guilt when, in 1812, Alfred shoves a knee into his gut and hisses at him that if he loves him he will join him, asks him _why_ he would choose Arthur over his own brother - weren't they born of the same land, the same cloth? Weren't they closer than Arthur would _ever_ be to them?

Not so, Matthew thinks sadly, thinking of bright Alfred, always a fighter, always a rebel. He thinks, if he could go back to the beginning and remember, that Alfred would be more suited to appearing in a sunburst, a crackle of light and energy and _life_. Matthew thinks that he is the sibling more suited to Napi's beginnings, cool mud and water.

It doesn't matter, not anymore. There is only one God on his land now, and as he tags along after Arthur, his second foray into the politics of Europe, he wonders how it has ever come to this.

It is 1824. London is bustling and Matthew feels uneasy, as he often does in large crowds. He is practically on Arthur's heels by the time they reach his parliamentary building.

Arthur stops him at the doors, fixes his lapels. "Remember," he tells his young colony with sternness. "Do not speak until after the ceremony. Pay close attention to everything - I will ask you questions about it later." the older man is about to turn away - then he catches Matthew's shoulder and says, "I understand you and the Netherlands have a...history? Please do not mix business with...with _pleasure_." he spits the word out like poison.

"I won't." Matthew promises, though his hands have been clammy all week, ever since Arthur announced that he would be coming with him to London to see this Treaty being signed. To see _Lars_.

Matthew tries, when he can, to ask for news from Europe when new people arrive to settle in his growing population. He anxiously followed the Franco-Dutch Wars, but after that most of the settlers were concerned with other matters - the French Revolution, the Napoleonic Wars, the American Revolution. These events pushed Lars to the back of Matthew's mind as he fought with his brother and gained Arthur's respect. But now that he was in _London _(in _Europe_, so close!), about to see Lars for the first time in a hundred and fifty years, it was hard to ignore.

Matthew sees Lars before he speaks to him, sitting on the opposite side of the hall with his leaders, face a mask of formality. Arthur nudges him because he thinks he is falling asleep, but Matthew is merely staring. When Lars catches his eye, he winks, and Matthew looks at his hands for the rest of the ceremonies

Lars approaches them during the break in the ceremonies, looking healthy and happy. He shakes hands with Arthur and then smiles fondly when he sees Matthew hovering nervously in the background.

"Look at you!" he crows, too loud for such a hushed, official hall. "Look how big you're getting!"

Arthur shoots Matthew a look to remind him of his promise to be silent - nonetheless, the colony eagerly returns the smile, and his fingers reach under his shirt to grip the iron rabbit at his throat, metal warmed by his skin. Lars sees this action and his smile turns into a secret one, just for Matthew. Under Matthew's shirt, coincidentally, is also a rosary, a parting gift from Francis, and keeping these trinkets hidden from Arthur gives the colony a small sense of power.

Arthur shoos him gently off while he and Lars talk in the jagged, awkward tones of those who have recently made up. Matthew wanders the hall for a while, staring distractedly at portraits on the walls while his mind buzzes with excitement.

Presently he sees Lars approaching him out of the corner of his eye. He keeps his eyes forward, unmoving. Lars stands a respectful distance from him, hands clasped behind his back, taking in the portrait.

After a few seconds he says, "The signing's about to commence. If you wish to go to the toilets, now would be the time." Then he walks away. Matthew waits a minute and a half, then goes to find Arthur.

"May I use the toilet?" he asks politely, feigning a mask of innocence as Arthur looks him over.

"Be quick." the island nation instructs. "We have ten minutes."

Matthew nods and exits the hall, turning down the corridor towards the toilets. As he passes a curtained off alcove an arm reaches out and pulls him in, and Matthew finds himself pressed up against Lars.

With a cry of delight, Matthew kisses his old friend; once on the right cheek, once on the left. When he moves to kiss the right again (hopefully avoiding any previous embarrassment), Lars catches his chin and instead guides their lips together.

Just like old times. Matthew practically purrs and grabs onto Lars's shoulders as the older country twines his arms around his waist.

"My God, look how _grown up_ you are getting!" Lars growls when they part - he lifts one hand to cup Matthew's face possessively. "It seems like only yesterday that you were a little boy!"

"Not that little!" Matthew protests, gasping as Lars pulls him closer, sliding a knee between the colony's legs. "I - I was almost as tall as you!" he threads his fingers through Lars's hair and does a quick comparison - now he is only an inch or two short than Lars, and physically they almost look the "same age".

Lars gazes down at him fondly. "Of course you were." he teases. He pinches Matthew's face, laughing at the glare he receives, and his fingers trail lower, brushing the chain around the colony's neck. "You're still wearing this?" he poses the question in a soft, almost disbelieving tone.

"Why wouldn't I?" Matthew demands as Lars tugs at the chain so the pendant slips over his shirt. "It's from you, isn't it?"

"Yes." Lars confirms, brushing knuckles through Matthew's soft hair, awe-struck. "But I never expected...didn't Arthur take...?" he trails off as he examines Matthew's sheepish face, and laughs. "Oh, of course. Rebel. My little rebel."

_Not yours_, Matthew thinks sadly, hugging the older man to him. _Not yours, but I could've been. So easily_.

It's not that he doesn't love Arthur - the man took care of him, raised him and his brother, and Matthew _knows_ Arthur loves him, in his own way. Sometimes Alfred couldn't understand that, in the years before his rebellion - sometimes he would complain that Arthur was too "stuck up" to love _anything_, but Matthew knows that there are several different kinds of love.

Alfred, for example, loves like fire, bright and obvious, and all consuming. Arthur loves like water - his affection is cooler, more subtle, usually underground and hidden from view. For all their differences Matthew thinks Alfred and Arthur's loves are similar - they want all or nothing, their pull is magnanimous, possessive and often overwhelming. Matthew thinks that Francis, on the other hand, loves like air - affectionate and palpable, but too often fleeting. And Lars, dear Lars, loves like earth, a solid and weighty presence that is always there in Matthew's bones. As for Matthew, he feels like his problem is that he just wants to love _everything_, needily and childishly, gathering it in like a hoarder, pieces slipping out and bits missing until what he hangs onto is a shabby mockery of what he had before.

Matthew feels like he wants to cry when Lars leans back a bit a bit and says gently, "You should get back. Arthur will get worried."

_If he notices I'm gone at all, _ Matthew thinks bitterly before he can stop himself. Of _course_ Arthur will notice, he chides his inner thoughts, he's the one who brought him here!

Reluctantly they separate, and Lars presses one more sweet kiss to Matthew's lips.

"Maybe the next time we meet," Lars whispers wickedly, leaning in close. "I can finally show you just _how much_ I miss you?" Lars's knee, still in between Matthew's legs, presses _up_...Matthew flushes red all over and Lars chuckles.

"Off you go." he encourages, and with one last squeeze of his arm Matthew emerges from the alcove and sets off back to the hall.

Lars leans against the wall, painfully aware of the tightness of his trousers.

"That kid better grow up _soon_." he growls to himself.

* * *

Forty three years after Matthew kisses Lars in the alcove of the London parliament buildings, he becomes his own country - the _Dominion of Canada_, Matthew Williams, wild empty land, under the great Empire that is Britain, separate from his brother, who only nods and smiles and tells him, "It's a start."

Five years after _that_, Lars writes him a letter, inviting him to visit the Netherlands as his guest. An unofficial visit, Lars calls it - that means no prime minister, no country names, no worries about being tricked into an alliance. Just Matt and Lars, in Amsterdam.

Lars meets him at the train station, laughing and cooing at him and at the dazed, tired look on his face. He is wearing a beautiful dark green suit that brings out the grey in his eyes, and he takes off his hat and bows at the waist when Matthew steps off the train.

"_Konijn_, hello!" he greets, and kisses him three times despite the odd looks they get from the people nearby.

He helps Matthew into the brougham and loads his case after him. Lars sits next to him, hand warm on his leg as he points out monuments and buildings - Matthew stares with wonder as they pass Dam Square, and Lars makes the driver stop, chuckling in amusement as Matthew presses himself up against the glass to stare at the statue.

"Naatje of the Dam." Lars whispers helpfully in his ear.

Lars has apartments on the far side of the Square, with a balcony and a roomy interior. Matthew traverses across the carpeted sitting room, marveling at the grandness and regality of it as Lars shows him to where he'll be staying.

"I don't have a guest room." Lars apologizes, though he sounds anything but. Matthew flushes when he glimpses Lars's king bed, all sheets and soft cotton. He places his case in the corner of the room, and as soon as he does Lars scoops him up in his arms and kisses him, tasting like sweet and sweat. Matthew grips him closer to him, reveling in Lars's taste. It is late afternoon, and the sunlight filters thickly through the drapes of Lars's bedroom. Lars pulls back and smiles at him, like a predator.

"Now, _konijn_," he says sweetly, showing teeth. "I could cook you a nice Dutch dinner, _or_..." he trails off, strokes a trail down Matthew's spine. "We could make sure your sleep cycles aren't disrupted _too badly_ and go to bed early?"

Matthew is torn, physically torn between the hunger in his stomach and the hunger that seeps warmth lower in him.

Then his stomach growls, ridiculously loud in the silence, and Lars laughs into his hair.

"Dinner, then." he says.

Matthew watches eagerly as Lars prepares the food and talks him through it. Lars holds a ceramic bowl to his side and mashes potatoes, carrots, and onions with quick, strong jabs.

"Hutspot." he explains. "You can thank Antonio for this, sad to say."

He hands the bowl to Matthew to continue mashing, while he pulls out of the icebox a string of sausage.

"_This_," he continues. "Is Rookworst."

Matthew stares at it. "Is it good?" he asks. Lars chuckles.

"Would I be serving it to you if it wasn't?" he replies teasingly. "I want to show you a traditional Dutch dinner. Keep going," he prompts when Matthew's hand stills. Matthew groans (his wrist is sore!) but obeys.

Matthew bounces up and down in his seat as Lars takes his time bringing the food to the table. "Lars~!" he whimpers. "I'm really hungry!"

"All right." Lars laughs, and smoothly spoons the hutspot onto a plate, placing two fat sausages on top, and handing the whole thing to Matthew.

Matthew digs in enthusiastically, absorbed in eating. When he looks up, Lars hasn't served himself, is merely watching him with one elbow propped up on the table.

Matthew instantly straightens his back, a habit enforced under Arthur's guidance. "Oh. Am I doing something wrong?" he asks. When Lars doesn't immediately answer, Matthew continues nervously, "I - is there some sort of Dutch etiquette I don't know about? If there is I'm sorry, I'm really..."

"Matthew." Lars's voice is amused. "You've done nothing wrong. You look adorable when you eat."

Matthew laughs, a nervous sound. "Thank you?" he tries, and Lars's shoulders shake with contained mirth as he serves himself.

They laugh over dinner, sharing stories from their ends of the world. Matthew confides his frustrations with his boisterous brother and Lars shares stories that go back to when Matthew was still toddling in the underbrush. He gives a boisterous retelling of the Eighty Years War that has the hair standing up on the back of Matthew's neck and laughter tripping from his throat. After dinner, Lars serves coffee with biscuits while he putters around in the kitchen. Matthew watches him and admires the grace and agility of the man as he stalks up and down the kitchen, pulling bowls and utensils from cluttered cupboards.

"What are you making?" Matthew asks with curiosity. Lars crooks a finger at him, beckoning. The light catches his spider silk hair and Matthew hastens to his side.

Lars shows him how to make Stroopwafels, and they share slow, sweet kisses over the batter. Matthew thrills when Lars keeps a hand on the small of his back, a weighty, reassuring presence as the other country guides him through the baking process. It is dusk by the time the Stroopwafels are done, sliding golden brown out of the oven - by this time Lars has introduced Matthew to bottles of strange, fresh tasting Jenever, and the young country's vision is deliciously blurred around the edges. When the Stroopwafels are cooled, drizzled with syrup and served, they sit on Lars's balcony, allowing the cool air to fan their faces, and the European nation raises his glass.

"To Canada." he says. Matthew smiles, open-mouthed in his inebriation, and toasts him.

"To Canada!" he exclaims, tipping back in his chair. His world is a-whirl with colours and dizziness and far away sound from Amsterdam's night life. When he finally manages to focus, he is sprawled on top of Lars on the bed, both of them kissing and pulling at clothes sloppily, hurriedly, forty-eight years between them.

Matthew stomach is being turned inside out with the things Lars is doing with his tongue, and he is aware of Lars's arousal pressing into his thigh.

Lars's mouth is hot, so hot, and it takes great willpower for Matthew to gasp, "Wait!" against his lips. Lars pauses.

"I - " swallowing, Matthew threads his fingers through Lars's. "I want to remember this."

There is a horrible silence as Lars takes in Matthew's disheveled appearance, his tousled hair and glassy eyes barely focusing. Matthew squirms under his inspection, terrified that he has said something wrong. Then Lars reaches up and showers Matthew's face in light kisses.

"I keep forgetting," Lars says warmly, "how very young and unspoiled you are."

Matthew frowns. Perhaps, he thinks to himself as Lars kisses him, mumbles a goodnight and slips out from under Matthew, perhaps Lars would be happier if Matthew was more experienced, like the other European nations. He moves to ask Lars this question, but the country beside him is out like a light, breath smelling of alcohol, one arm flung possessively over Matthew's side. Matthew abandons his inquiry and snuggles up beside Lars, relishing another presence beside him in bed.

* * *

When Matthew wakes the next morning, he is tangled in miles of sheets, groggy and with a headache from the gin. The room is bright, the drapes drawn - down below he hears the hustle and bustle of Dam Square. A tram's bell rings. Lars passes the bedroom doorway in nothing but his underpants, sculpted muscle interrupted by a corded scar placed here and there like patchwork.

"G-good morning." Matthew calls out, and Lars doubles back.

"Morning!" he chirps. "You're a heavy sleeper! I was about to make some breakfast to try and wake you up. How do you like your eggs?"

"Whichever way you're making them." Matthew defers politely. Lars grins and leans on the door frame.

"All right. Hey, you want me to give you a tour today?" he asks. When Matthew nods enthusiastically, Lars looks pleased.

"Excellent! Oh, and I'm planning on staying perfectly sober for the rest of the day." he winks at Matthew, looks pleased when the younger boy flushes red.

"I didn't mean to insult you - " Matthew starts, but Lars waves him off.

"No, no. You're right. I would..." Matthew is surprised to see Lars actually looking _bashful_. "I would like to remember it, too. I just forget that you haven't been exposed to the politics of Europe."

Matthew does not need to ask him what these "politics" include - Lars does not care to enlighten him.

They spend the day strolling around Amsterdam. Lars shows him the_ Oude Kerk_ and the _Nieuwe Kerk_ - they stand in the sunlight, spliced and coloured by the stained glass, and Matthew thinks about God and the Creator and other, older beliefs that he has been taught are wrong.

Then they visit _Ons' Lieve Heer op Solder_, a church in an attic, and Matthew doesn't know how Lars figured out that it would make him giggle, but it did.

Then Lars takes him to the _Magere Bridge_, and seems very embarrassed at the state the bridge is in.

"They're going to repair it." he apologizes, even when Matthew insists that no, it's very beautiful even if it is a bit...old. "You'll have to come back to see it!"

Matthew promises to do so.

They stand in front of the Royal Palace, and Matthew gazes up and up and _up_ at its cupola as Lars babbles on about Cornelis de Graeff and Louis Napoleon and his fabulous Dutch Golden Age, and _has Matthew had one of those yet?_ before he stops and looks awkward.

Matthew doesn't mind. He was molded in a different era. He will not, he feels, have glorious uprisings like the Europeans of old, no bloody battles to uproot his kings. His people will not create an architectural revolution and build buildings to honor their gods, nor will they try to replicate these fabulous European structures. But he will be great in his own right. Not France-great or England-great or Spain-great or even America-great, who has flourished under the sun his own people have pulled from the sky, but Matthew doesn't care. He will be Matthew-great. So he follows Lars into the enormous central hall, where there is engraved on the marble floor a map of the world. Matthew stands on Canada, tries to put one foot on the west coast and one foot on the east, and wonders.

Lars takes him to the _Waag_, shows him the theatrum anatomicum. They witness a dissection - an old man, eyes closed as if in sleep, the doctor's hands within his chest cavity. Matthew has seen corpses frozen in the North, mauled by animals and sometimes by their fellow man. This clean cut medical dissection does not affect him in the least. Lars keeps looking over at him, worried that he will faint or throw up or both. Matthew feels proud when he can beam him a sunny smile. Lars returns it faintly.

"I keep underestimating you." the taller country murmurs in wonderment, before taking Matthew's hand and leading him outside again.

They stop for a light lunch on the_ Leidseplein_, and they alternatively talk and watch the people passing by.

They traverse around Amsterdam until Matthew is sufficiently tuckered out. He barely notices where the carriage is taking them until Lars is helping him out.

"Welcome to _de Wallen_." Lars says with mischief in his voice. Matthew blinks once, twice, the word filtering through his brain. Then he flushes red and looks frantically around.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asks, horrified. Lars wraps an arm around his waist as Matthew tries to hide behind something.

"I felt like showing you _all_ of Amsterdam." he murmurs into Matthew's ear, and biting the younger's earlobe. Matthew squirms.

"_All_ of it?" he whispers shakily, and Lars nods.

"Mm-hm. Perhaps we should get back to my place?"

Matthew has never agreed to anything so fast.

* * *

They are still for a whole minute, staring at each other in the moonlight from the window. Matthew is apprehensive and unsure how to act now that he is here - he sees his emotions reflected in Lars's grey eyes, darker than Matthew has ever seen them.

Matthew is the one to kiss Lars, something that surprises the taller man and allows Matthew to slip his hands under Lars's jacket and push the man backwards with his body weight.

Lars recovers fast, however.

"_That's_ right." he groans, stroking Matthew's cheek as the young country's lithe hands work at loosening Lars's belt. "God, Matthew..."

Matthew laughs softly under his breath and prods Lars to sit down on his bed. Then, as Lars watches, Matthew attempts to slowly and sensually remove his shirt. He ends up tangling his limbs in the fabric, and Lars tries to stifle a laugh.

Cheeks burning, Matthew tosses the article of clothing aside and clambers onto Lars's lap.

"It's not funny," he mutters sulkily as he rubs against Lars, and Lars cups his neck.

"Oh, _konijn_." he chuckles. "You're trying to act like something you're not. Don't do that."

"Why not?" Matthew demands before he can stop himself. "You're so used to everyone in Europe, I'm s-scared I'll embarrass myself!"

Lars goes silent and wide eyed. Then he strokes a hand gently down Matthew's chest, dipping a finger idly into his navel.

"I don't want you to do that because you're boring if you're not _you_." Lars says sternly, and flicks his fingers up and down Matthew's side, making him squeal like a child. "Matthew, I want _you_. Understand?"

Matthew keeps his eyes down-turned, blushing furiously, and Lars tips his chin up. "Understand?" he repeats.

Matthew nods and kisses him again, feeling himself relax as Lars gently sets him down on the bed and crawls over him. It takes seconds for Lars to remove their clothing and Matthew suddenly feels more inexperienced than before, and it must show on his face because the man above him pauses.

Lars catches his palm and kisses it reassuringly. "It'll hurt." he warns. "But it will pass. I'll get you ready."

Matthew nods hesitantly, and is taken by surprise when Lars slides down the length of his body, hoists the younger country's legs onto his shoulders, and applies his tongue to a secret, embarrassing part of Matthew that makes him kick his foot out.

"Ah! Lars~!" Matthew turns his face into the pillow but Lars pinches at the flesh on his thigh until he turns back, reluctantly.

Matthew seizes up when that wicked tongue pushes and probes past his tight ring of muscle. "Nngh, it - " he tries, but is cut off when Lars strokes his arousal teasingly until he falls silent, save for his quick, gasping breaths and silent sobs and pleas.

Finally Lars feels Matthew's muscles relax against him and he pulls away, reaches for a bottle of oil he had brought in with him, and dips his fingers into it.

The initial penetration surprises Matthew - he arches at the strange sensation of something moving inside him, though his surprise melts into pleasure when Lars twists his wrist and hits that _sweet spot_ right there.

"Please - please - please - " Matthew doesn't realize _he_ is the one saying that until Lars is straddling him, taking time to coat his arousal carefully in oil.

He looks Matthew over, smiling gently, and parts his legs.

"Breathe," he advises. "_Je bent een schat_, Matthew. My Matthew."

And Matthew smiles and relaxes against Lars as he pushes in, slowly, carefully, ever mindful of Matthew's gasps and the sight of his face scrunched up against the pain.

Lars groans when his hips touch Matthew's body, in him completely. He steels himself against the instinct to move his hips, feeling the suffocating heat around his cock and praying for Matthew to adjust quickly.

Matthew mumbles something and Lars strokes his hair.

"What?" he whispers. "Matthew, what?"

"...M-move, please." Matthew repeats, stronger, and presses down for effect. Lars gives a thankful groan and obeys.

They are quiet, which is surprising - Matthew does not cry out, only on occasion in a sharp, breathless voice, and Lars's sounds are reduced to heavy grunts. Matthew bounces with each thrust, and it shoves his head into a patch of moonlight, which reflects bright colours off his hair.

Lars does not think of Francis, like he thought he would when making love to a boy who resembles the Gallic nation - he does not think of the times he was on his knees in front of the man. Matthew could never be Francis, and he presses in again with gusto, drawing a low moan out of the boy. Lars reaches down to kiss him.

They come moments apart - Matthew first with a breathy exclamation, spilling himself on his own chest, and then Lars with one more snap of his hips.

Matthew is drifting in euphoric afterglow, snuggled in the crook of Lars's arm. Lars buries his face into Matthew's hair and murmurs, "_Ik hou van je_."

Matthew is too tired to ask what it means, but he has a pretty good idea, and it ignites in him a warm, glowing feeling that has nothing to do with what has just transpired.

And when he wakes up the next morning and sees that yes, Lars is still there, arms curled possessively around him and no, he has not abandoned him or asked him to leave, the feeling returns ten-fold

* * *

**Translations:**

_Je bent een schat_ = You are a darling in Dutch

_Ik hou van je_ = I love you in Dutch

**General/Historical Notes:**

When I was a child my father had a job with the government, in Native education. I grew up on creation and origin stories, and even now I have a fascination with the different cultures, languages and histories of the Native Americans (though, I admit, I know more about the plains people than the more eastern tribes). One story I grew up on especially was the creation myth I included here, from the Blackfoot. Old Man, or "Napi", is featured heavily in Blackfoot folklore, and as I said in the previous chapter, he is the first trickster I ever learned about.

Whenever I think of America and Canada I always get two different visions in my head. There is a Siouian creation story that says that one day a man woke up with his face towards the sun. He was a child of the soil, and the sun's rays hardened him so that he was able to leap about in the light, joyous and free. I've always thought, if countries were "created", this is how Alfred would be created. America always makes me think of sun and energy (which may or may not have to do with the fact that most of the trips I've made to America have been to sunny or warm states!). On the other hand, Canada always gives me a sense of space and coolness (I camp a lot and live close by the Rockies - at least "close by" in Canadian distance - so I'm often accustomed to the wilderness), which is why I think Matthew would be created like this - from nothing and from space, from the basics and growing outwards. I don't know, that's just me!

The Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1824 (or the Treaty of London) was signed to resolve problems that had branched from the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1814. It was also meant to deal with the problems between the English and the Dutch regarding English occupation of Dutch properties during the Napoleonic Wars and also trading rights in the Spice Islands.

This is Dam Square, around the time period Matthew and Lars visit it: (h t t p : / / en . wikipedia . org / wiki / File:Amsterdam_-_Dam_1900 . jpg) In the middle of the square is a very impressive statue called "Naatje of the Dam".

Hutspot, or Hotchpotch, is boiled and mashed potatoes mixed with carrots and onions. Apparently, the recipe supposedly came from bits of potatoes that were left by the departing Spanish soldiers in 1574 during the Eighty Years War. This is a legend, since the potato was only introduced into Europe as early as 1537 and spread slowly after that, so the Dutch probably made this dish with turnips before they had access to potatoes.

Rookworst is a type of Dutch sausage with spices and salt mixed with the ground meat and stuffed into a casing - traditionally an intestine. It is usually the meat served with Hutspot.

Stroopwafels are a Dutch treat, two waffles with a syrup in between them.

Jenever is a strong, juniper-flavored liquor from the Netherlands, Belgium and Northern France. It is the drink from which modern day "gin" evolved from (gin is actually short for the Dutch word for juniper, "GENEVER").

Oude Kerk ("old church")/Nieuwe Kerk ("new church") - churches in Amsterdam. Oude Kerk is extremely old, I am told (no, duh?)

Ons' Lieve Heer op Solder ("Our Lord in the Attic") is a canal house with a church in the attic. Yeah. Pretty self-explanatory.

The Magere Brug ("skinny bridge") is a famous Amsterdam draw bridge. It was first built in 1691, but was rebuilt in 1871 because it was in such a bad state. It was then demolished and replaced in 1934 and majorly renovated in 1969. You can see it in "Diamonds Are Forever", if you want to see what it looks like!

The Royal Palace of Amsterdam was once a city hall in the Dutch Golden Age (17th century), then became the palace of Louis Napoleon and then the Dutch Royal House. Inside the central hall is a map of the world, Eastern and Western hemispheres.

"The Waag" is a weigh house which used to be included in the former city walls. It was constructed in 1488, and in 1691 they built an anatomy theatre there for people to view public dissections.

"De Wallen" is one of three of Amsterdam's red light districts, located near the Oude Kerk. It has existed since the 14th century, mainly catering to sailors.


	5. All Must Fly

**Title:** Only Light and Momentary

**Author:** tatterdemalion

**Characters/Pairings:** The relationship between Canada and the Netherlands (OC) will take centre stage - however, other characters involved in their relations will also appear.

**Rated:** It varies. T for this chapter

**Summary:** A chronicle of Matthew's relationship with Lars, from 1611 to present day. In this chapter, the occupation of the Netherlands by Nazi Germany, the exile of Princess Juliana in June 1940, and miscellaneous mentioned events in World War II leading up to the birth of Princess Margriet in 1943.

* * *

_"God gives every bird its proper food, but all must fly for it." - _Dutch Proverb

* * *

Seventy years later, Matthew spends most of his time listening to the radio.

He hardly leaves his living room - Kumajiro remembers him enough to nudge him towards the kitchen every once in a while. When he is not listening to the radio, he is making calls and writing letters: to Arthur, to Alfred, to Francis, to his boss, trying to gather any information he can.

Alfred refuses to get involved. Matthew later learns he calls it "isolationism". He thinks that is a bit ridiculous - he and Alfred have been isolated from Europe all their lives, so why would Alfred put a name on it now?

Alfred persists, a tired, frightened young man a continent away from what all of Europe is fighting.

"They screwed us over once." he insists. "_Both_ of us Mattie, but especially you, don't say they didn't. And they're not even waiting for their heels to cool before they start again!"

By _they_ Matthew assumes Alfred means Ludwig, impassive, ambitious Ludwig and his fervent new boss; but he supposes Alfred could also mean Arthur and Francis, who allowed Ludwig to push and push and _push_ and have only recently began to push back.

Matthew tells him that they need to do something, that _he_ needs to do something. Alfred shakes his head.

"Germany won't go that far." he declares. "He can't of forgotten the Great War, he won't let history repeat itself."

Matthew thinks of Czechoslovakia and frowns.

When he talks to Arthur, all Arthur wants him to do is swear his loyalty. Matthew should be offended with how little Arthur apparently trusts him, but he remembers that all the other country is, is a tiny island and Arthur has spent his entire history building up peace of mind. He reassures Arthur that he will stand by him and hangs up.

Francis is the only one who tells him what Matthew has been trying to find out for months. He is the one to tell him about Czechoslovakia, how him and Arthur handed the country over to Germany in appeasement; he tells him about Poland, and Austria too - and how up north, Norway is fighting tooth and nail.

Francis is the one to tell him about Lars, but then Germany turns his sights to Paris and Francis can't talk as much anymore.

The invasion of the Netherlands is only four days in when the Dutch forces surrender. This is not even enough time to send a letter, to send troops. Four days is a second in their lives, and for one awful moment Matthew is furious that Lars did not fight, that he gave up so easily.

Then he feels only an aching, bitter, hollow sadness. This is not Lars's fault, and he _knows_ that. He sends letters instead, and listens to the radio, and both of these sources confirm what he doesn't want to believe - the Netherlands has been occupied by Nazi Germany.

Matthew tries to remember when he last saw Lars - it was right after the Great War, when Matthew was still reeling from the heady awfulness of it all, the vastness and the men and (the trenches on the Western Front, _oh God_, a jagged line of mud that took so many of Canada's sons). Alfred and Matthew had felt so young then, so unused to war - though it made them feel a little better that even the old men of Europe looked shaken by the brutality and the sheer, great _loss_...

Matthew could not remember seeing Germany when he and Alfred arrived in France to join the celebrations, and he did not really _want_ to see him at that moment, still shaking and weak and unused to nation's eyes on him, whispering, _that child, at Vimy, who knew? The Germans shook in their boots._

Lars found him in the crowd, scooped him up and kissed him soundly on the mouth in front of the whole of Europe (Arthur almost had a seizure; Alfred choked on an hors d'œuvre) and told Matthew how _proud_ he was.

That had made Matthew full of warmth, but they didn't manage to get time alone after the celebrations because Matthew had to leave with Arthur. Lars had promised to come see Matthew at his house next time.

Now it is 1940, and Matthew feels like throwing something, screaming or crying when he hears, on top of everything, that Paris has been occupied.

Francis does not return his letters. Matthew is not sure he has even received them.

So when Arthur appears on his doorstep, Matthew is taken aback and stands there with his mouth hanging open until the Empire reminds him icily to _close your mouth, boy, or flies will get in_ and _are you going to remember you have manners and invite me in?_

When Matthew steps aside, Arthur carries two little girls into his house, followed by a straight-backed woman with a pretty, solemn face.

"Matthew," Arthur says once he has seated everyone and the littlest girl, a one year old cherub has stopped crying, "May I present to you Princess Juliana of the Netherlands and her daughters, Princess Beatrix and Princess Irene."

Matthew heart nearly stops as Princess Juliana gives him a kind smile.

"It - it's an honor to meet you." he stammers, eyes taking in every detail of the woman's face. Can he see Lars's angular features in hers, a hint of colour in her hair that reminds him of her country's corn-silk hair?

"The same to you." Juliana answers sincerely. "I have come to ask you if my daughters and I could take refuge in your country."

"Of course!" Matthew exclaims without hesitation, without thought of his boss. Arthur looks annoyed at Matthew's brash behavior, but Juliana merely gives a soft laugh.

"Thank you." she says. "Mr. Kirkland said that you could be relied on. I see now that he was right."

Matthew blushes under the unexpected praise of his mentor, and excuses himself from the living room to make Arthur and the princess some tea, and juice for the eldest daughter, two year old Beatrix. Once he returns, he bombards Juliana with questions about her journey. He marvels at the woman's warm, down-to-earth attitude as she tells him about their brief stay with Arthur and, before that, their flight from the Netherlands.

Matthew wonders if Lars helped them.

After a while Arthur has to leave. Matthew walks him to the door, and once they are out of earshot Arthur pulls from his jacket an envelope.

"Her Highness asked me to give you this." Arthur explains as Matthew gives the envelope a quizzical, perfunctory glance. The seal has not been broken and when Matthew looks back up at Arthur he catches the look in the other man's eyes and smiles in understanding.

"Thank you." he murmurs; Arthur looks away and shuffles his feet.

"Yes, well." he replies, then casts the young country and almost sympathetic look. "Take care, Canada. I fear I will be seeing you sooner than I'd like."

Puzzled, Matthew nods. "Take care, Britain." he echoes, and then Arthur is gone.

Matthew offers the family temporary lodgings in his house until morning, when he can talk to his boss about moving them to a more suitable place. Beatrix, as physically striking as her mother and full of childish energy, sits on the living room floor and plays with Kumajiro until the poor bear sinks tiredly onto his haunches and does not even twitch when Irene makes a painful grab for his fur.

Matthew finally gets up the courage to ask Juliana about Lars. When he mentions the name, Juliana's brows draw together.

"He took us to the train station, helped us get past the soldiers." she narrates. "He...he looked very tired, Matthew. He didn't smile at all, and he had bruises everywhere. I almost wanted to take him with us, but he left after helping my mother with passports."

She catches his painful, frozen expression and looks almost apologetic. "Did you..._know_ each other?"

The letter is burning a hole in Matthew's pocket. He forces a smile. "We know each other." he confirms.

Beatrix rides on Matthew's shoulders as he carried her to the guest room. She orders him, in the commanding tones of a future queen, to leave the room while she changes into her pastel coloured nightgown, then pulls a book from her luggage and tells him to read it to her. Amused by her orders, Matthew barters with her until she huffily leaves to brush her teeth. Then he allows her to push him onto the bed and clamber onto his lap while he opens up the book.

The book is called, "Rénert the Fox", and Matthew wants to laugh until he cries. Beatrix snuggles up to him as he begins to read. Halfway through, Irene toddles in, scales the bed clumsily and tries to fit on Matthew's lap too. The two sisters push at each other as Matthew tries to calm them down.

Their mother leans in the doorway, amusement on her face, and it is only when Matthew sends her a pleading look that she says, "Girls, let Matthew finish the story." and they still immediately.

By the time he is done the story, Irene is draped over his knees, her breath whistling between parted lips, and Beatrix is nodding off, her little downy head bobbing up and down with the effort to stay awake.

Juliana smiles at the three of them from the doorway. "Thank you." she says softly. "They don't usually take to strangers so quickly. The only other person they've done that with is Lars." her expression softens. "I wonder if they can tell that you two are similar."

Matthew smiles, rubs at his eyes. "They have good instinct, then." he offers, and tries to move Irene without waking her. She squirms and whimpers, and Juliana moves into the room to scoop her up in her arms. Matthew takes Beatrix, who clutches at his shirt sleepily, and together he helps the Princess of the Netherlands put her two children to bed.

Juliana catches his arm as he walks past, and squeezes it. "Thank you again." she says. "I try every day to be strong and to believe that the Netherlands will overcome."

Matthew nods. "I also believe that." he says firmly. "Lars - Lars won't go down that easily. Not like this."

"Thank you." she repeats, squeezes his arm once more, and closes the door behind him to return to bed with her daughters.

Only when Matthew sees the light go off under door of the guest room, only when the sounds of shuffling becomes less audible, does Matthew close the door to his own room, sit on the edge of his bed, and open the letter.

He doesn't read it at first, choosing to simply examine Lars's neat, graceful handwriting, the smudges on the paper, the feel of the paper under his fingers.

"_Dear Matthew_," the letter begins, "_If you're reading this, then my royal family is safe and that is all I can hope for. I have given this to Princess Juliana to give to you however she can._

_I can't tell you that I'm all right, because I'm not. I'm hurt, and I'm tired. My military is defeated and my people are in despair. I saw this coming and I couldn't stop it no matter how hard I tried. For that I will never forgive myself._

_I am writing this letter because I want you to take care of my Princess. Please protect her and keep her children safe until this is over. As long as they are safe I can fight this._

_I love you and I want you to be strong, because I know you can. I will see you as soon as I can, konijn._

_Yours always,_

_Lars_"

Matthew keeps the letter under his pillow. He will do so until 1945.

* * *

Juliana and her daughters move into the Stornoway House in Rockcliffe Park and Matthew spends most of his time over there, doting on the three, trying to do whatever he can to help, but Juliana is surprisingly self-sufficient. She enrolls her daughters in school, though Matthew winces at the thought, and she does her own grocery shopping (she humors Matthew for about a week and a half as he trails her to and from the store).

It takes Matthew that long to realize that here in Canada, Princess Juliana is not well recognized. Matthew feels comfortable enough to ease off. Now when he follows her it is for conversation - the Princess is easy to talk to, as casual as one of his citizens but with underlying grace and regality. He learns she enjoys going to the movies, and stands in line with her to buy tickets. They talk about the movies afterwards at Stornoway House, over tea with honey and lemon. Matthew comes to adore the Princess, as do many of his citizens. He watches Beatrix and Irene grow up with a sense of nostalgia.

Matthew writes letters to Lars, letters he never sends, and keeps them in a box in his closet. He talks mostly about the princesses, and about the war efforts on his end - he is routinely being pulled across the Atlantic to give supplies to Britain; give food, ammunition, _men_. In 1942 after the Dieppe Raid he stumbles back into Ottawa exhausted, and when Beatrix and Irene come around his house to visit him he can barely keep his eyes open. Juliana understands and shepherds them out. The girls boo.

"_Dear Lars_," he writes. "_I miss you a lot, and I hope you know that. The war is going...well. It's going as well as it can._

_Today Princess Juliana and I went to a movie. It was a comedy, from Britain. I liked it, though Princess Juliana said the humor was a bit lacking. She is a wonderful woman, you should be very proud._

_I was thinking about what you said in your letter, about never forgiving yourself for being invaded. Lars, I don't want you to feel guilty about anything that happened. These are dangerous times, and if anything it is the fault of everyone for allowing Germany to grow strong enough to do these things. I pray every day for you and for Francis._

_I love you. I'm scared I'll never be able to tell you that._

_Matthew_"

* * *

In 1942 Germany comes close. Matthew sees him, once, off the coast of Newfoundland while Matthew is patrolling near Bell Island, and he stares as if he can catch Ludwig's attention. Ludwig looks over anyways, catches his eyes and his gaze slides over Matthew as if he isn't there.

The Germans sink two carriers that day. For the first time, the Atlantic Ocean does not seem big enough to protect him from the Axis Powers.

That night Matthew dreams there _is_ a bell on Bell Island and that it is ringing very, very loudly.

Juliana, becoming big with child, fusses over him and brings him soup despite his protests. She strokes his cheek and tells him she's proud of him. She even talks about Lars when he insists, telling him stories about how, when _she_ was small, Lars used to let her ride on his shoulders, give her sweets, and sing her lullabies about sheep. Matthew listens to her singing to Irene one night in a husky, rough voice.

"_Daar buiten loopt een schaap_," the Princess coos, pressing a gentle finger against her daughter's chubby palm. "_Een schaap met witte voetjes, dat drinkt zijn melk zoo zoetjes!_"

Eventually Matthew learns enough Dutch to sing along with the next part. "_Slaap kindje slaap_." he murmurs from the doorway. "_Slaap kindje slaap_."

_Sleep child sleep._

"_Dear Lars_," Matthew writes. "_Why ever did you sing the princess a song about sheep? Well, I guess I can't judge. My children sing songs about plucking larks. I miss you_."

* * *

Matthew almost fails to make it to the birth of Juliana's third daughter. When he receives the message, he is in the parliament buildings. He trips over the rug, apologizes to the Governor General, bursts out of the door and nearly nose-dives into a cab.

He sprints through the front door of the Ottawa Civic Hospital, past startled nurses and orderlies, and demands from the front desk where Princess Juliana's rooms are. When the receptionist splutters something about "restricted access" he fumbles for his government card and is finally directed up the stairs to Juliana's suite.

He makes it just as the doctors hold up a squalling, writhing baby, slick and loud and _alive_. Juliana catches sight of him in the doorway and sobs happily, reaching out for his hand. Matthew crosses the room and takes it. With her other arm she takes her baby girl, bundled in a blanket and gives a great, tired sigh. Matthew laughs, a strained, strangely-pitched laugh and tentatively strokes the baby's flushed head.

"What's her name?" he asks quietly.

"Margriet." Juliana replies, letting go of his hand in favor of cradling her baby more securely. As the doctors clean up and disperse, Irene and Beatrix are let into the room, squealing for their mother.

Juliana awkwardly tries to embrace all three girls at once - Matthew picks Irene up and dangles her over the side of the hospital bed. He can't help but smile at the picture the family makes: the heir to the throne of Netherlands with flushed face, sweaty hair, beaming like a little girl and holding a tiny bright red princess, her sisters around them.

Matthew knows what he has to do, though he is afraid as he watches the Dutch tri-color flag waving from the Peace Tower.

"_Dear Lars_," he writes as he travels with his men, in trucks, headed towards Sicily. "Y_our third princess is beautiful. Beatrix is excited to watch her new sister. Juliana is doing fine after the pregnancy. Her husband is to visit her soon._

_I love you so much, and I never told you, but I promise you with all my heart that I will get the chance to. I'm going to fight by my men, like I did in the last war, and I'm going to help end this war. I flew your flag from my parliament buildings and I felt like you were close to me._

_Love (love, love),_

_Matthew_"

* * *

**Historial/General Notes:**

"_Francis is the one to tell him about Lars, but then Germany turns his sights to Paris and Francis can't talk as much anymore._" - the invasion of Netherlands started on May 10, 1940; Paris was occupied by Nazi Germany in May of 1940.

-"..._that child, at Vimy_..." - referring to Canada's actions at Vimy Ridge in WWI, a defining moment in Canadian history.

-the Dutch troops surrendered to German forces on May 14 - the Dutch army was apparently very poorly organized and trained at this time (they had attempted to retain neutrality after Germany annexation of Czechoslovakia), and Hitler apparently had very little respect for them. Surprisingly enough, the majority of German citizens and military weren't very pleased with the idea of violating Dutch neutrality, so there was a lot of propaganda around that time to convince the German nation that the invasion of the Netherlands was necessary.

-Queen Wilhelmina ruled Netherlands at the time of German occupation - Princess Juliana was her daughter, and she was married to a German prince. This prompted Hitler to hint that, because a Dutch royal was married to a German one, that this was a sign of an alliance between the two countries. The Queen absolutely refused this statement, but it ignited a lot of displeasure in the Netherlands. Because of this, and the growing war, the royal family fled to the United Kingdom. One month after that, Juliana and her two daughters, Beatrix (who became the future queen of the Netherlands) and Irene, fled to Ottawa, where they took up residence in Stornoway House, which in present day is the residence of the Leader of the Opposition.

(Hey, Canadians! Do you ever get the giggles when they call Michael Ignatieff "Iggy"? Hetalia's done too much damage to my maturity...)

-Rénert the Fox, if you recall, was mentioned in Chapter Two - Reynard the Fox, the "trickster". Interestingly enough, in 1943 the Nazi German party sponsored the making of a cartoon film called "Van den vos Reynaerde" (About Reynard the Fox), which was basically an anti-Semitic version. This was salvaged and shown at the 2006 Holland Animation Film Festival.

-Princess Juliana was said to be a very down-to-earth woman. While living in Canada she enrolled her daughters in public school, went grocery shopping, and even shopped at the Woolworth's Department Store since few Canadians recognized her. She was said to adore movies and often stood in line for tickets.

-The Dieppe Raid of 1942 was, quite simply, a disaster. A lot of Canadian soldiers were killed.

-In 1942, German U-Boats tried a few naval raids off the coast of Newfoundland (which, yes, wasn't part of Canada at the time), and attacked four allied ore carriers off the coast of Bell Island. It's a scary thought, isn't it? How far reaching Germany could become? I mean, they made it across the mother fucking Atlantic Ocean!

-to hear a bell in your dream represents a warning, or could signal the beginning of something new or a way for your unconscious to prepare you for whatever is happening next.

-the lullaby Princess Juliana sings is called "Sleep little child, sleep". The translation of the lyrics she sings are: "Outside walks a sheep, a sheep with white feet, which drinks its milk so sweet. Sleep child sleep...sleep child sleep."

-"_plucking larks_" - this refers to the French-Canadian children's song, "Alouette", which is basically singing about how one is going to pluck a sky lark's various body parts.

-Princess Margriet, Juliana's third child, was born on January 19, 1943. When she was, Princess Juliana's rooms at the Ottawa Civic Hospital were declared extraterritorial thanks to Royal Assent granted by Alexander Cambridge, the Governor General of Canada. If Royal Assent had not been granted, Margriet would have had dual nationality instead of exclusively Dutch, and would not be in the line of succession today. That was the only day the Parliament Building flew a flag other than the Canadian one.

-"_...as he travels with his men, in trucks, headed towards Sicily_" - Canadian troops took part in the Allied Invasion of Sicily on July 10, 1943.

**Author's Note:**

I realize that this chapter seems really short and hurried, especially because hey, this is World War II, and there's so much stuff to cover. Believe me, I know. I don't want to make it seem like some events weren't important, but I wanted to focus on the Dutch royal family, and Matthew's reaction to them and to the occupation of the Netherlands. I'd like to one day write a better story focusing on Canada's involvement in World War II, do it some justice. But I hope you enjoyed it regardless of the total disregard for world events!


	6. We Fixed It Once

**Title:** Only Light and Momentary

**Author**: tatterdemalion

**Characters/Pairings:** The relationship between Canada and the Netherlands (OC) will take centre stage - however, other characters involved in their relations will also appear.

**Rated**: It varies. M for this chapter, just to be safe

**Summary**: A chronicle of Matthew's relationship with Lars, from 1611 to present day. In this chapter, the crossing of the Rhine and the liberation of the Netherlands, 1945. Also some indistinguishable time after the end of the WWII

**Author's Note:** This is, hands down, the most frustrating chapter I've written and my least favourite so far. Sorry for the long wait but I kept revising it until I was sort of content with it

* * *

On day six, God created animals and man - no.

Two brothers lived at the beginning of time. One represented righteousness and one represented destruction - no.

God said, "Let us make man in our image, in our likeness..." - no.

Gisoolg sent a bolt of lightning down to hit earth, which created a human body shaped out of sand - no.

And God said, "Let there be light" and there was light, and we had it more abundantly, _hahaha_.

Shells flare around him - Matthew can feel the dirt in his hair from the sporadic explosions. His body spasms once, twice, and he curls in on himself briefly before scrambling to his feet, pushing his toes into the mud and surging forwards with the rest of his children, skin streaked with mud and grit and sweat and the blood of other men. He cannot die, at least not like this, he muses as he watches a young man get shot down, jerking backwards and hitting the ground. His face is still round and youthful. Matthew wonders how many years he has seen.

It is March, 1945. Matthew runs over the logistics in his head - Alfred and Arthur, and Arthur's brother James are down by the Rhine, struggling across it with their men. It still amazes Matthew that Arthur fights with his men - he had half-expected Arthur to take a higher-up position. A general, maybe, a position where his keen thinking and logistical mind could be put to good use. The first time he saw Arthur Kirkland knee deep in the mud and yelling in the most gentleman-like way possible was startling for Matthew. Alfred he is used to, sunny Alfred who always liked to rough and tumble and care for his people so much his heart ached and his face paled, so it was no surprise to see him waltz into the Allied camp with a gun slung over his shoulder and a cheerful grin on his face. Matthew was not even surprised by the presence of James, a ruddy faced, bristly haired man who seemed too brash, too loud to be a Kirkland, and who had clapped Matthew on the back and told him to, "Give it yer best, ye lil' bairn!"

Matthew smiles at the memory before he remembers where he is. He and his men are at Beinen, keeping the Germans back while the Scots, the British and the Americans take the Rhine. Up ahead Matthew can see machine gun nests, German soldiers still at it, fighting away.

He wonders how Ludwig has been. He wonders if he is getting nervous.

This war has been going on for far too long, but Matthew is always struck by the sheer horrific _ugliness_ of the whole thing, the way soldiers fall in a carefully orchestrated chaos. America lands south of Wesel. Arthur commandeers Wesel. Matthew is left to fight the citizens.

Shots whizz past him, creating in his ears a crackling of harsh sound. Matthew ducks and keeps going. That is all he can do, now. Move forward. He can't move back. Sometimes he lies on his cot at night and thinks of moving _back_, wishes for that day, the one when it was just him and Lars in the kitchen drizzling thick syrup between waffles, lying in bed in the stillness of the evening. Lars would trace patterns on his skin and tell him his eyes were beautiful. Matthew would wriggle uncomfortably under his tickling fingers and tell him that he was being cheesy. Lars would laugh and agree.

"But that doesn't mean it isn't true." he would add.

Matthew curses when he realizes he has been reminiscing again. Arthur warned him about this when they arrived.

"When you personally know a country, it makes it harder," the green eyed nation explained as they waited, tense, for orders. "God knows when we landed in Normandy...." Arthur had trailed off, hadn't finished his sentence, instead adding, "Just focus. The best thing you can do for the Netherlands is focus on our goal."

_Liberation_. Matthew wonders if Lars knows they are coming, if he has heard anything. He wonders if he could convince his superiors to switch him to the division in charge of western Holland - if there is any better place to start searching for Lars, it is in Amsterdam.

The Germans fight back - Matthew has to give them that, but his boys are tough, and they overcome the nests, stabilize the bridgehead. Matthew collapses, spent, in the dust, and dabs gingerly at the gash in his arm, from a stray bullet that caught him off guard. He is joined by James, who followed his Black Watch up to Wesel. James holds out a flask, face a little paler.

"Ye did well, bairn." he congratulates him. Matthew feels a little miffed - he thinks he is past the stage of people being surprised at his efforts in war. Not after Vimy. Not after all this. He takes the flask without complaint, however. The alcohol burns on the way down. It feels nice.

"Arthur tells me ye knew the Netherlands," James continues, watching as men rush back and forth, attending to the wounded, unloading equipment, securing territory. Several German prisoners are marched past them. Neither nation looks at them. "Dunnae get too soft on me, aye? I dunnae want to see you two canoodlin' an' having a sappy reunion."

Matthew blanches and stares at his....well, his _uncle_, he figures. "I doubt I'd be _canoodling_ in the middle of the liberation attempt." he reasons. James smirks.

"Ye should've seen me brother when 'e took Paris. Poor bampot looked near tears!"

Matthew flushes. "I - I haven't seen him in a while, I don't know if he'll _want_ to see me right now." he mumbles. James swirls his alcohol around and raises his bristly black brows.

"War changes people," he agrees. "Nations, especially. Bu' I wouldn't worry too much, bairn. Time heals all wounds." the black haired nation pauses, then snorts. "Shite piece of advice, that. But I'm no good a' reassurance."

"Thanks." Matthew says anyways. "It helped. A lot."

"Oh." James blinks. "Well, good!" he rises, cracking his knuckles, shifting his weight on his big, burly frame. "Lissen, I gotta go see my boys. Take care o' yerself, bairn. Catch you around."

"Yeah. See you." Matthew lifts his fingers as the other nation disappears in the throngs of soldiers. After a minute, Matthew rises too. He has to get back to the task at hand.

* * *

When Matthew dreams nowadays, he dreams of smoke and dirt and blood and panic. He dreams of other things besides the present and pressing issues - he dreams of the Dutch royal family safe within his borders. He dreams of Juliana, bent over with exasperation, calming her fussing, crying, newborn baby. He dreams of earlier days, of gold streaked fields and him and Alfred, as one, or Francis swinging him in his arms, or Arthur teaching him to grow. He dreams of expansion, of the factories back at home churning and working. His people never giving up hope.

When he wakes it is to a dull grey reality. He and his army are busy opening up a route for the British for supplies - before that, they turn their attention the rest of the Netherlands.

Arthur travels up to their base one evening, and Matthew is surprised to see him there - the last he'd heard, the British were not to accompany them into western Holland. On this particular evening Matthew is picking his way across the campground. The Germans have flooded the dykes, and the soldiers are continually wet and miserable throughout their movements. As Matthew stoops to empty his boots of water (his feet have been white and wrinkled for days), he hears the approaching squelch of boots.

"Mr. Williams." Arthur greets, and Matthew nods.

"Mr. Kirkland." he answers. "I didn't know you were stationed - "

"Please walk with me to your lodgings." Arthur interrupts, and Matthew, frowning, obeys. Arthur walks like an old man, he realizes with a bit of humor, straight-backed, hands clasped behind his back, measured steps. He limps a little, and Matthew wonders.

"I have asked your superiors," Arthur says evenly. "That you be transferred to the Divisions responsible for north-eastern Holland."

Matthew starts, and his throat goes tight. "Sir," he says frantically. "I had specifically enrolled so that I - "

"I know what you did." Arthur's voice is distant and professional. "And I know what you are trying to do. I don't think you want to see...Lars...when he is like this. I don't think it will be good for your concentration."

Matthew leans closer to Arthur, aware of all the men around them. "And who are you to decide that?" he demands, almost pleadingly. Arthur curls his lip.

"I won't take that tone, boy." he warns, and Matthew backs off, straightens his shoulders.

"Thank you for your consideration," he says coolly. "But I have a duty to remain with my Division."

"Matthew." Arthur looks taken aback, but Matthew salutes.

"If you'll excuse me," he murmurs, and then he turns his back and leaves Arthur behind.

The 1st Canadian Corps moves out later that week, their eventual goal to move towards Rotterdam, The Hague, Amsterdam...

Matthew's heart feels too big to be contained in his chest. He hopes fervently that Amsterdam is where he will find Lars. He hopes Lars has managed to lay low and keep himself safe - though, knowing the older man as he does, Lars has probably managed to get himself into trouble.

Arnhem gives Matthew a jolt of comprehension - well, not that he _needed_ it, all things considering. He goes door to door in the quiet street, breaking in glass with the butt of his gun. German soldiers hide in crevices like rats and shoot at them. Arnold MacMillan, a big, cheerful lad from Nova Scotia, is shot down in the middle of the street by a sniper in a bell tower. Matthew takes great pleasure in gunning down the German soldiers when he reaches the tower.

The absence of townspeople makes his heart stop and his throat constrict, and he fears the worst - but by the time the Canadians have cleared the town and the sound of gunfire has ceased, people begin creeping out from their homes, wide eyed and almost disbelieving.

Matthew marvels at the spirit and exuberance of the Dutch people, when the Canadian tanks roll through - they are greeted with pale, wan, but cheerful faces, and people reach up to shake his hand.

_Lars, your children are beautiful_, he thinks when he sees a little girl on her father's shoulders, far too thin for her frame but with a smile far too big for her face.

The Canadians try very hard to open up a supply route through Arnhem, but the Germans make it almost impossible to do so, resisting at several strategic points. When Arthur relays this through a messenger Matthew begins to get worried. The people of Arnhem tell him that they are starving; that fuel is low, food supplies even lower, and transport has ground to a depressing stop. Graves have been half-heartedly dug in the ground, covering the victims of the Hunger with loose soil. Matthew can smell them from here as the air thaws.

The soldiers do their best, of course, sparing extra rations when they can, but there is nothing more they can do until the supply route is cleared - the 5th Division has headed north in order to cut off the Germans at Ijsselmeer. Some soldiers stay in Arnhem, but Matthew is with the others who push west. Towards Amsterdam.

Matthew doesn't know what he expects when he reaches Lars's capital city. Did he expect Lars to be waiting for him, holding his tricolors and looking none the worse for wear? Did he expect everything to be all right? A sniper hidden on the roof of an apartment building takes out his left shoulder when he makes a dash across Dam Square; Matthew does not even realize he is bleeding until he has made it inside Lars's building, panting and red faced and _his arm hurts, dammit!_

He can hear people inside their apartments, moving around. Nobody makes a sound, and Matthew doesn't expect them to. His boots are heavy on the stairs as he runs up, up, up to the fourth floor.

When he pounds on the door he receives no reply and for a second a terrible panic grips at his chest. Outside he can hear the shouts and gunfire of the Canadians and he wonders what he will do if Lars is not in Amsterdam. How will he find him? How will he know where he is? Amsterdam is only one of three major cities that they are pushing for, and up north the Germans are still fighting with no signs of slowing.

He presses himself up against the door, holding his breath, trying to listen. Is that a shuffle of feet inside, a moving of cloth against skin?

"Lars!" Matthew calls loudly. "It's me, Matthew!"

Everything stills. The people in the other apartments are still. There is no answer, and Matthew slams his fist once more against the door.

"Please open up!" he calls, adding for good measure, "_Please_, Lars!"

Nothing. Matthew feels himself becoming irritated. "Lars, if you don't open up I'm going to break your door down anyways!" he calls, adding, "And if you really aren't home, then I'm sorry!"

The door opens before Matthew can make good on his promise. Lars is standing there, silhouetted by the weak sunlight that makes it through his curtains, outlining his body and illuminating the stray hairs on his head. His face is drawn and sunken in, pale. His clavicle juts unsettlingly from his chest and his hips are like shards. What worries Matthew the most is the absolute _blankness_ on his face, the absence of his usual grin and laughing eyes. Matthew would have settled for a twitch of the lips, a raising of the brows, _anything_ besides this smooth-faced individual before him. All the excitement that had filled him when the door had opened drains now, and he feels silly and awkward, standing there with his gun held loosely by his side.

"Lars?" he asks, hesitantly. Lars sighs and there is something so _broken_ about it that it makes him want to cry.

"Matthew." he answers dully. "I don't have any coffee to put on, I'm afraid, but you can come in anyways."

"Lars, come with me." Matthew insists. "Arthur and Alfred aren't far behind, and my men are taking care of the city. I've come to help you, Lars!"

"Help me?" Lars laughs bitterly. "You know, Ludwig's people took away my Jews in 1941. They bombed Rotterdam and the Japanese forced my women to _comfort_ them. No one helped me then."

It is terrifying, Matthew thinks, the way Lars is looking at him like he is just another face. He reaches out and grabs Lars's forearm.

"We're helping _now_." he insists, and Lars smiles.

"I am so tired, Matthew." he sighs. "I tried very hard to fight."

"I know you did." Matthew murmurs. A woman cautiously sticks her head out of her apartment door and Matthew ushers Lars into his apartment, closing the door behind him.

"I wasn't prepared," Lars continues. "I allowed them to - to persecute my Jews, to occupy my cities. This is my fault, I shouldn't have let this happen..."

"Lars, _please_." Matthew begs. "Please don't talk like that, there's nothing you could've done, you couldn't have known that Germany - "

"_But I should have known_." Lars snaps. Matthew pulls his hand away, a little fearful. "_Everyone_ should have known, when he took Czechoslovakia, when he started pushing the boundaries...everyone thought that he wouldn't go farther, and when he did..." Lars shakes his head, runs a hand absently up his arm. Matthew can see raised welts from the bombing, and even now his body carries a rash from the liberation attempts.

Matthew sits in silence. He doesn't know what to say. He does not know what it's like to be occupied (unless one counts the colonization, which Matthew doesn't anymore because he simply Didn't Know Better), and he can't imagine what it would be like.

"You know, Ludwig asked me about my neighbors once," Lars says, voice strained in the quiet. "Asked me about the couple next door. They were sweet kids, newlyweds. They suddenly started eating enough food for five people. But I didn't tell. No one did."

Matthew looks up, horrified, at Lars's face. He looks panicked, a hint of hysteria in the corners of his eyes, and he grips Matthew's sleeve between his fingers. "You understand, don't you Matthew?" he asks. "My people aren't...they aren't _bad_. It's just, one of the other neighbors was being question and questioned, and - " Lars pauses, swallows. "He had no choice! They took the couple away, and the _Jews too_, but he had _no choice_, Matthew, do you understand?"

"Yes." Matthew mouths the word uselessly, trying to calm the other nation. Beneath Matthew's hand, Lars's heart beats wildly against his ribcage like a tangled swallow. "It's okay, please, Lars..."

Lars turns his head away with a faint sound of longing. "I never saw them again." he admitted. "Newlyweds, they were newlyweds - "

Matthew embraces the man, pressing his face into his shoulder. Lars smells like soot and blood and something else that presses into Matthew's nostrils and leaves him with a sense of dread. The older nation keeps a tight hold on him as if pinning him there.

"I must look like such a train wreck," Lars mutters sourly into Matthew's hair. "I feel so useless."

"Don't!" Matthew commands. "Don't feel like that, it - it's over now, all right? You need to focus on that." They remain locked in an embrace. After a moment Matthew disentangles himself and stands.

"Lars, come on." he insists. "Come with me, I can - "

"No." Lars remains sitting, stoically, back pressed against the couch cushions. "No, I'm staying."

"Lars." Matthew sighs. Lars fixes him with a stern look.

"_No_." he repeats. "I couldn't help stop this, and I couldn't save my people. The least I can do is stay with them."

Matthew remains standing for a moment, trembling. Then he kneels and digs through his pack, angrily, pulling out his rations and shoving them into Lars's astonished hands.

"Eat this." he orders. "And go help your people." he moves towards the door, adding, "I'm sorry, for what happened. I'll try to help you, as much as I can."

He shuts the door. Lars says nothing.

* * *

Matthew does not see Lars again until May 3rd, when the Canadians organize a truce with the local German authorities. With this truce they will be able to set up a proper supply route to deliver rations to the people.

Matthew's amazement with the Dutch people has not ceased. They respond to their arrival with such enthusiasm and energy, it is hard to remember that many of them are starving. Dutch resistance fighters, who had been fighting long before the Canadians touched on their soil, help them regain control of the country. Last week, passing through a small town, Matthew saw, "Thank you Canadians" painted on the roof. His heart swells.

Lars is there at the agreement and does not look anyone in the eye except the German officials; these men avert their eyes from the silent, gaunt nation as if sensing something _off_.

After the proceedings, Matthew follows his generals back to the camp, assuming Lars is still not ready to see him (and it _hurts_, that Lars _doesn't want to see him_).

The only bad thing about love, Matthew thinks darkly, retiring without a word to his tent, is that eventually it always leaves.

So it surprises him when Lars pushes into the tent, grey eyes dark, backs Matthew up against his cot, and kisses him so hard their teeth click painfully together.

Matthew clutches at Lars like a lifeline, feeling how thin his friend is beneath his uniform, how frail. In return, Lars grabs at every part of him as if memorizing the young nation's body, muttering thanks into his mouth, the desperation making him blush.

"Thank you so much," Lars says, trailing his lips over Matthew's jaw. "They were so hungry, you've saved them."

"Don't thank me," Matthew replies quietly. "You don't need to thank me, I would do it again, in a heartbeat."

He knows that he shouldn't be doing this, as Lars lowers him down onto the cot - not in a military camp, not during a liberation attempt, not while Lars is so (_so weak, so hurt, so damaged_...), but he has missed this, has _missed _touching Lars and kissing him and so allows it, giving back as much as he gets, pressing in and in and _up_ as Lars kneels over him, connected by their lips and hands. It is only when Lars smoothes hands up under Matthew's military jacket that the young nation finally, reluctantly breaks away.

"Not like this," Matthew says quietly, touching Lars's face. "You're upset, and I understand - "

"Stay with me." Lars says suddenly, stroking fingers through Matthew's hair. "Please. I need you."

Lars looks almost embarrassed to admit this, and Matthew realizes with a jolt that Lars thinks that, by admitting a weakness, he is making his _country_ look weak. It is easy to forget, he muses, that though they represent land, they are also too eerily human for their own good.

"I know how that feels," Matthew soothes, clutching Lars to him again. "All my life, all I've wanted was for someone to stay." he smiles, takes Lars's fingers and dips them below his collar so the other man can feel the ever-present pendant. "You're the only one who ever stayed, Lars. I need you too."

On April 30th, Adolf Hitler commits suicide. Not long after that, the war ends. Two weeks later, Matthew appears at Lars's doorstep with a suitcase and a tired smile.

* * *

They only make love the second week of Matthew's stay. This occurs only when Lars has had enough of Matthew's waffling ("Are you sure?"..."Maybe we should wait a bit until you're better, eh?"..."I don't want to push you if you're not ready..."), throws Matthew over his shoulder, and hastens to the bedroom.

For all Lars's impatience and recent fronted cheerfulness, he is painfully delicate and raw when he disrobes and kisses Matthew, and the young nation is careful with him. Sometimes halfway through daily activities Lars's eyes glaze and his body tenses and Matthew knows to just leave him and wait. Sometimes Lars has nightmares, violent ones where Matthew narrowly misses his flailing limbs; sometimes he can't sleep, and Matthew wakes to the older nation pacing the floor of the bedroom, murmuring things in Dutch. Matthew pretends to be asleep during these times. He feels powerless to help Lars; this frustrates and upsets him, and oftentimes he spends the day out in Amsterdam alone to clear his head.

When he returns in the evening Lars is almost always cheerful again, cracking jokes as he makes dinner, and constantly pulling Matthew close so he can nuzzle his neck, tease him, kiss his ear. It is horribly reminiscent of the pre-war days, but it is obviously not the same and it makes Matthew upset.

"You'll wear yourself out, trying to run around after him and "fix" him," Arthur advises during a phone conversation that started out with, "I don't care if you're in the _hanging gardens of Babylon_, boy, I need those papers!", and ended with, "Why _are_ you in Amsterdam anyways? You sound positively _ill_."

"But I want to help him!" Matthew insists over the phone, keeping an eye on the door for Lars, who is due back from visiting the Royal Family any minute now. Arthur sighs, heavily, over the line.

"I know you do, lad." he soothes. "But, honestly, the only one who can "fix" Lars is himself."

Princess Juliana tells him something along those same lines when she come to visit. She has been busy running a post-war relief fund for the country, and looks tired but happy, wrapped in the scarf she used to hide her face on the way over. As Lars exclaims his delight over her impromptu visit and goes into the kitchen to make coffee, Juliana leans over to catch Matthew's hand.

"I never did say thank you, for keeping my family safe." she says graciously, and Matthew's ears heat up.

"Please, don't mention it. It was my pleasure," he insists, adding shyly, "How are the girls? How's Margriet doing?"

"They're all just fine." Juliana laughs. Then, with a quick glance at the kitchen, she continues, in a quieter voice, "Lars has been talking to me. About...the war."

"Oh." Matthew glances, too, at the kitchen, then back again. "Is he all right?"

"He seems better, mostly because you're here." she admits. "He cares a lot about you, and he's worried for you."

"_Me_?" Matthew repeats, incredulously. "Why?"

Juliana's face is solemn as she says, "Lars is grateful to you. Not just for what your army did, but for what _you've_ done for him. But he's worried all this is having an effect on you and you're not taking care of yourself."

"Of course this has an effect on me!" Matthew exclaims. "I - I don't like seeing him like this, it hurts because I can't do anything to help and I just have to trust that he'll get better. And it's not like _I_ haven't seen things too - !" Matthew can still remember coming across a camp with his men, stumbling over mass graves, seeing the shock and revulsion and sheer feeling of, "I don't understand how any human could do this to another" reflected on his soldier's faces, and he wanted to protect them from it.

Juliana's face conveys gentle sympathy and understanding. "Don't try to be a hero and lock your feelings away," she advises softly. "Don't feel as if you don't have the right to be upset or sad because you did not go through what Lars did. You have still suffered, and if you continue to take responsibility for making Lars feel better, you will neglect yourself."

Matthew stares at the princess. Then he laughs softly. "You will make a good queen." he tells her, and Juliana gives him a wry smile.

"One can only hope." she admits.

Lars returns with a pot of coffee on a tray, and the conversation dissolves into an interesting discussion of Juliana's relief efforts, and the fact that Prince Bernhard was very displeased at the newfound behavior of his children.

"They are decidedly too "Canadian" for his tastes." Juliana teases, causing Lars to laugh when Matthew dissolves into frantic apologies.

Juliana kisses him fondly when she leaves, and Lars leaves as well to walk her down to the main street. Matthew gathers the cups and pot and dips them into warm soapy water in the sink. _Wash, rinse, repeat_.

Matthew thinks of skin stretched over skeletons and wonders if anything will ever be the same.

He does not notice when Lars returns, and jumps when arms slide around his waist and the Dutch nation presses himself against Matthew's back, a warm presence.

"It's okay." Lars murmurs into his ear. "It's okay to feel this way."

"I - what are you talking about?" Matthew laughs in a voice far too thick for comfort, hands stilling in the sink. "I'm fine."

Lars sighs - his breath tickles Matthew's ear. "You are so brave, _konijn_. My sweet little savior, my treasure." he praises, and the use of the nickname evokes such nostalgia and sorrow that a little sound tears itself from his throat. Lars brushes his hair to the side and presses a kiss to the back of his neck.

"Did you see them too?" he asks softly. "The camps? I'm sorry, you and the princess were talking, and I overheard..."

"Yes." Matthew whimpers, hands clutching the edge of the sink so hard his fingers cramp. "I did, I, I couldn't believe it..."

"It's all right." Lars tells him. Gently, he pulls Matthew away from the sink, takes a towel and dries his hands for him. Matthew is mortified - here he is, close to tears in front of a nation who's seen much worse.

"I'm - I'm sorry!" he splutters, but Lars catches his hands and squeezes them.

"Please, don't be." he reassures. "You are so, so strong, _konijn_, but it's not wrong to be upset. We're nations; we feel the pain of our people."

"I d-don't understand," Matthew protests, sniffing to keep his treacherous tears at bay. "I didn't act like this af-after the First war..."

"It's natural," Lars soothes, then tries to grin at Matthew. "I know it seems impossible to believe, but even us old men of Europe get bothered by things like this."

Matthew gives a heavy, tearful laugh. "Don't group yourself in with the "old men"," he chides. "You're more _middle aged_."

"_Am_ I now?" Lars looks amused and affronted all at the same time; Matthew tries to hide his laughter by turning it into a snort.

Lars kisses him, a simple, relieved press of the lips; when they part the Dutch nation leers, "I'd _hate_ to think what that makes _you_, baby."

"_Hey_!" Matthew gasps, and Lars dances past his playful slap, laughing, grey eyes sparkling with _life_.

It is the first time in a long while that Matthew's heart has felt so light.

* * *

Lars teases Matthew for the fact that, though he has been in Amsterdam for a month now, he still hasn't unpacked his suitcase (though Lars has time and time again offered up space in his cupboard). Matthew smiles and endures it, but doesn't tell him that, if he _were_ to unpack, he'd be tempted to never leave Lars's side.

So it was only a matter of time, Matthew supposes, before the stubborn older nation took it upon himself to unpack Matthew's suitcase. He enters the bedroom to see Lars squatting near his empty suitcase, a bundle of letters in his hands.

Lars looks sheepish. "Sorry." he apologizes. "I was unpacking your things, and I saw these were addressed to me."

Matthew takes a breath - then he sits down on the floor with Lars, takes the letters from him and carefully opens them.

"I wrote to you," he explains. "During the war, when I couldn't talk to you. I wasn't going to send them, ever, but it made me feel better pretending you could read them." He hands them back to Lars and for a few minutes there is silence as Lars reads, mouth moving silently, incredulously over the words. Then he smiles, a soft, sweet grin that makes Matthew blush and become short of breath all at the same time. He points to a word near the end of the letter, mouths it.

_Love_.

"You've never said it before." Lars admits with a sheepish grin. "I really - I actually thought you didn't feel the same way." he laughs, nervously, hesitantly. "I didn't _mind_, I mean, I was happy to love you even if you didn't return the feelings, I - "

Several things happen. Matthew lunges forward to kiss Lars; he catches his foot under him, upsetting his balance; they both go tumbling onto the ground; Lars says a particularly nasty swear word.

"Sorry!" Matthew squeaks, tangling his fingers in Lars's jumper. The surprise attack did not really go as he had planned. "But - but how could you not _know_? I mean, no offense, but it doesn't take a genius to realize I love you too!"

"Ow - what?" Lars, who is nursing a bump on his head, raises himself up on his elbows. "Seriously?"

Matthew rolls his eyes and decides to show Lars in a more obvious manner. He presses a hand down on Lars's chest, pushing the older man flat on his back. Pressing a quick kiss to his face, Matthew smiles and works his way down Lars's body, pushing up his jumper with one hand. Lars shivers - "Your hands are cold!" - but he stops complaining long enough to help Matthew dispose of his trousers. Matthew strokes Lars through his underwear, revels in the facial expressions he makes.

"I love you." he says seriously. "I want you to know that."

Lars looks bewildered at the Canadian's sudden burst of spontaneity. "O - oka_aah_!" he bucks as Matthew swallows him to the root, opening his throat to him and pushing down, down, until his nose is pressed flat against the Dutch nation's abdomen.

"Shi_-it_, Matthew!" Lars gasps, and despite the younger nation's protests sits up, cradling Matthew's skull between his hands, urging him on as he bobs up and down.

"God!" he grunts. "That's great, you...little _minx_!! You always know - _hah_ - what to do to get me going - ! Matthew, that's wonderful, keep..._uh_."

Matthew smiles around Lars's cock, reveling in the (rather _vocal_) praise, and increases his efforts. When Lars's thigh muscles tighten, a sign Matthew takes to mean he is near his peak, Matthew pushes down, stays there, and swallows around Lars's cock.

The result is instantaneous - Lars yelps something in strangled Dutch, digs his heels into the floor and folds over Matthew's head. The younger nation can hear the hot, harsh panting in his ear as Lars strokes his head with a shaky hand.

Matthew swallows down Lars's release, gives his head one last teasing lick, and brings his head up. He is met instantly by Lars, who captures his mouth in a rather passionate kiss for one who was so recently satisfied.

"I missed you, _konijn_." Lars growls into his mouth, tugging at Matthew's lower lip with his teeth. "Now, I hope you had enough to eat for dinner, because we're going to be here for a long time."

"I definitely had enough to eat now." Matthew replies playfully, and it takes a minute for Lars to get it but when he does his eyes light up with something that makes heat pool in Matthew's groin.

"Cheeky boy. Get on the bed, or we might have some bruises in the morning." Lars purrs, and as Matthew scrambles to obey he can't help a goofy grin spreading across his features. Lars is back with him; Lars loves him; back at home his people prosper; life is good. Lars catches the grin as he straddles the younger country, and leans down to kiss it.

"Now what could you be smiling about?" he wonders with a brilliant smile of his own.

Matthew laughs and pulls Lars close.

"Everything."

* * *

**Translations:**

_bairn_ - Scottish slang for "kid"

_dunnae_ - Scottish slang for "don't"

_bampot_ - Scottish slang for an "idiot", a "crazy person".

**Historical/General Notes:**

If the first bit of the chapter was confusing to you, I wanted Canada to be struggling with his identity during the Second World War, since that was one of the big times the country really came into play and was recognized for the things it did. Canada's thoughts jump sporadically between Christian and Native American beliefs - he references the Algonquin creation myth, quotes from Genesis, the Mi'kmaq creation myth, and for some reason a joke (?) my dad always used to repeat to me when I was younger and which I thought was actually in the Bible. I think he made it up himself, since it isn't very funny!

Canadian troops weren't present at the crossing of the Rhine, the beginning of the Allied power's liberation of the Netherlands, but the 9th Canadian Brigade was present up near Wesel, relieving the 7th Black Watch (Scottish infantry battalion), who were pushing back fierce German resistance. The Canadians then firmly established a bridgehead and by March 27th the bridgehead was 55 km long and 30 km deep. Which was a help, you know.

James is a name I use for the personification of Scotland, which is actually quite popular in fanon, I've found out recently. I think it fits. I bet James took a particular delight when the Jacobites started acting up. He was probably all like, "'Ey Arthur, they're named after me!" and Arthur would be all like, "NO, they're named the poncy king who went crying to Francis!"

The people in the western Holland area (as well as several other areas in the Netherlands) had just gone through what was called the "Hunger Winter". Thousands of people had perished because of low food supplies.

It sucked mega hard if you were a Jew in the Netherlands, mostly because there was, basically, no way out. Over 100 000 Jews were deported by the Nazis. It was especially difficult to escape from the Netherlands once it was Nazi-occupied because the countries surrounding it were, uh, kind of Nazi occupied as well...interesting to note that very rarely did Dutch people hide Jews during the occupation, mainly because, before World War II, it was rare to see Christians and Jews interacting and forming friendships; so when the Nazis occupied the Netherlands, the Jews had no one they could turn to for safety. Those that did manage to find someone to hide them were usually separated from their families. Not many entire families hide out together, as in the case of the Franks.

"_t__he Japanese forced my women to comfort them_" - My history's a little rusty on this part, but I think the Japanese took over temporary control of some parts of the Netherlands for a while? During this time they enlisted women into "forced prostitution", as comfort women for their soldiers. It is interesting to note they also did this with the Chinese.

_Lars' rash_ - I think it might be in my head canon that Nations get rashes, like ALL THE TIME, no matter what's going on - civil war, resistance, dry weather. Whatever D:

Princess Juliana returned to the Netherlands almost immediately after the end of World War II, and took part in a post-war relief operation, especially for people in the northern part of the country (where there had been Nazi-caused famines). She was the president of the Dutch Red Cross and worked closely with the National Reconstruction organization. Again, she's an amazing lady.

_"You will make a good queen." he tells her, and Juliana gives him a wry smile._ - the Dutch people were so enamored with Princess Juliana that a majority of them wanted their present Queen Wilhelmina, Juliana's mother, to abdicate in favor of her daughter!

_"They are decidedly too "Canadian" for his tastes."_ - At the Royal Family's first dinner together at the palace, the three girls exhibited such bad table manners (Beatrix complained about the food, Margriet beat her spoon against the table), that their father, Prince Bernhard, was convinced their stay in Canada had corrupted them. This was actually a big issue between Juliana in her husband - Juliana believed that the monarchy should stop being aloof and distant from its subjects and begin adopting a more down to earth attitude (Bernhard was a real playboy, apparently, and that really didn't sit well with him AT ALL)

_"Matthew thinks of skin stretched over skeletons"_ - the Canadians stumbled across quite a few Nazi camps during World War II. I imagine nobody, not even a nation, would be prepared for that.

**Something that has little to do with this story:**

The title of the chapter, "_We Fixed It Once_", comes from the myth of Old Woman and Old Man in the Blackfoot mythology: (if you are tired of me inserting random Native lore into these stories, just skip over this. It is of no importance to the actual story line and will be the last time I subject you guys to this stuff!)

In the beginning, Old Woman asked Old Man what they should do about life and death.

Old Man said, "I will throw a stick into the river and if it floats, people will never die. If it sinks, people will die forever." He threw the stick in and it floated.

Old Woman said, "No. I will throw this rock into the river. If it floats, people will live forever. If it sinks, people will die forever." She threw the rock in and it sank.

"It is better this way," Old Woman said. "If people did not die forever, they would never feel sorry for each other, and there would never be sympathy."

"Let it be that way." Old Man said.

Eventually Old Woman had a child, but that child became sick and eventually died. She ran to Old Man, mad with grief.

"I am very sorry now that it has been fixed so that people die forever." Old Woman said. "Let us have our say again."

"No." Old Man said. "We fixed it once."

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much, you guys, for sticking with me. I know this didn't really focus on the "war" aspect of World War II, so if you were expecting gun fights and epic battles, I'm sorry to disappoint! The next chapters should come easier than this one, I promise.


	7. Routine Checkup Part One

**Title:** Only Light and Momentary

**Author:** tatterdemalion

**Characters/Pairings: **The relationship between Canada and the Netherlands (OC) will take centre stage - however, other characters involved in their relations will also appear.

**Rated:** It varies. Probably PG-13 for this chapter?

**Summary:** A chronicle of Matthew's relationship with Lars, from 1611 to present day. In this chapter, the Ottawa Tulip Festival. There is seriously no historical stuff in this chapter AT ALL. Seriously.

**Author's Notes: **I love tuuuuuulips!

* * *

Kumajirou wakes to an empty bed.

Crawling out from under his cocoon of blankets, the polar bear blinks blearily at the window - it is a regular spring morning in Ottawa, a bit of cloud and a breeze. Outside the window, a branch studded with green buds slides against the glass.

The boy who always feeds Kumajirou comes rushing in, arms full of clean laundry.

The guy - whoever he is - dumps the laundry on the bed, narrowly missing the bear.

"Hey." Kumajirou growls, wiping a sock off his head.

The guy fixes his glasses. "Oh, sorry Kumajichi!" he says brightly. "I'll get you some breakfast in a minute, I just need to do some cleaning!"

"Who?" Kumajirou asks, wrinkling his nose. The guy sighs.

"Ca - na - da." he enunciates. "Honestly, it's not that hard. I told you last week, Netherlands is coming over to visit today." a pink colour settles on his face. "I'm taking him to the Tulip Festival."

"Netherlands?" Kumajirou repeats, sitting up on his haunches. That loud, troublesome nation who came to a meeting high once? Kumajirou disapproves of this new playmate for his master.

Canada sighs again. "Don't you go forgetting _his_ name, too!" he chides, reaching out to scratch behind the bear's ears. "We'll be back for dinner, don't worry."

"Don't smoke." Kumajirou orders his master. The blonde frowns.

"...What?" he asks, but Kumajirou has already climbed off the bed and is now lumbering towards the kitchen, intent on breakfast.

* * *

Matthew isn't expecting much from Lars's visit - all they had planned was for Matthew to "show him the Tulip Festival". Afterwards he might take Lars to a nice restaurant, and after that...

Matthew blushes. Well, he cleaned his bedroom really well, _just in case_.

The honking of a car horn outside his house catches his attention, and he scrambles for the front door. This is the first time Lars will have visited him (not counting the times he was here for "business" of course). There is a sleek black car parked outside. Lars jumps out of the back, wearing a long scarf and pea-coat against the breeze (Matthew, who is only in a t-shirt and jeans, cannot see how the weather could be cold enough to warrant a scarf).

Lars's smile is exuberant, but with enough apology in it to make Matthew wonder - as he takes a step down the walkway, Lars turns to help someone else out of the car.

Oh. _Oh_. Matthew blinks in confusion as Lars's sister Margot, a cheerful looking woman with caramel blonde hair, slides out, giving her brother a pat on the back. From around the other side of the car Lars's brother Noah gets out, fixing his sunglasses and looking entirely unimpressed. His sweep of light brown hair ruffles in the wind. All three of them are dressed for much colder weather than springtime in Ottawa.

_Well_. Lars never mentioned he was bringing the family. Matthew suddenly feels self-conscious, shifting his feet as Lars walks ahead of his siblings in long strides and sweeps Matthew into a hug, briefly kissing his cheeks.

"I am _so sorry_." Lars mutters between clenched teeth. "They wanted to come, I really couldn't stop them, you know how my sister is, she - "

"Mathieu!" Margot pushes her brother aside to kiss him fondly on the cheek. "How _are_ you? We haven't talked in ages!"

Matthew grins hesitantly at her. He cannot see the family resemblance between the two - Margot's face is more round and soft featured - but then she smiles. _Oh_. Margot and Lars seem to share the same shit-eating grin. Well that's lovely.

"It's nice to see you again." Matthew replies. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were coming, I would've put some tea on or - "

"Don't be silly!" Margot trills, pulling on Noah's elbow so he is forced to press against his sister. "We just wanted to see our brother and his boyfriend, isn't that right, Lux?"

Noah hums in the back of his throat. _He_, at least, looks related to Lars, with the same elegant, angular face. His eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses but he looks sufficiently bored already. Matthew despairs. He tries valiantly to remember the times he's actually _talked_ to Luxembourg, to at least try to find some common ground, but can think of few occasions. He figures Noah must be the "easily forgotten" one of the family. He can at least relate to that.

Lars casts another painful look at Matthew before Margot claps her hands and says brightly, "So! Where are these tulips I hear so much about?"

They take the car the siblings arrived in to the Festival - Lars keeps one arm wrapped securely around Matthew's shoulders as if trying to pull him away from his sister. Margot retaliates by pulling on Matthew's elbow and asking him questions. Noah reads.

"Can we see your Parliament building?" Margot asks excitedly, taking in downtown Ottawa as Matthew tries to give the driver directions. "Ooh, this is so exciting! I haven't been to your capital before! I'm so glad Lars invited us to come!" Margot giggles and receives a dirty look from her brother, who now has his fingers dug so tightly into Matthew's side the younger country fears they will need to spend some time disentangling.

"I didn't _invite_ you to come," Lars points out bitterly, "You just came without asking!"

Margot does not seem to hear this and continues to beam at the two of them.

"So, Belgium, Luxembourg," Matthew begins politely as Lars buries the lower part of his face into Matthew's hair and grumbles. "How are your bosses? How are you handling the recession?"

Margot clicks her tongue in a matronly manner. "Mathieu!" she chides. "Now isn't _business_ time, it's _family_ time!"

Matthew colours and apologizes while Noah looks up from his book.

"_My_ economy's fine, thanks for asking." he remarks. Lars glowers at him, face still half-hidden in Matthew's hair.

"Lux." he groans, and Noah returns to his reading.

The car drops them off at Commissioner's Park, as per Matthew's instructions. Matthew feels proud as Margot "ooh"s and "aah"s over the multitude of tulips; even Noah looks impressed, crouching to examine them. Lars, arm still draped over Matthew's shoulder, tugs him away from his siblings (Margot is temporarily occupied by a busker, who is singing her a French love song on a guitar), towards a statue of a man holding two hats. He and Matthew share a secret smile, and Lars moves behind him to wrap his arms around the younger's waist.

"Yours is in Apeldoorn, right?" Matthew asks, shifting in the embrace as Lars places a kiss behind his ear.

"Mm-hmm." Lars mumbles, breath hot on his neck, and tilts his hips just so against Matthew's rear. Then he growls in frustration as Margot comes up beside them, looking too cheerfully innocent to be unaware that she is interrupting something.

"What's this, Mathieu?" she asks. Noah strolls up behind them with a tourist's pamphlet.

"_The Man With Two Hats_," he reads, then looks up. "Descriptive."

"Lars gave it to me," Matthew explains with a soft smile. "After the war, as a symbol of friendship. He has one just like it in Apeldoorn." Lars gives his waist a quick squeeze - without seeing his face Matthew knows he is smiling.

A sly grin spread across Margot's face. "Ah, so they're like promise rings!" she chirps. Matthew snorts. Lars rests his chin on the top of Matthew's head

"Yeah, Bel, a statue of a man representing my liberation is _exactly_ like exchanging promise rings." the Dutch nation quips sarcastically. Matthew brushes against the gold band on Lars's right thumb and smiles to himself.

By the time they circle around Commissioner's Park, Matthew's stomach is growling. Margot spots an outdoor food stand and insists Lars accompany her to get food for everyone. This leaves Matthew and Noah sitting on a park bench, Matthew having no idea what to say to the other nation in order to break the silence. Noah has removed his sunglasses, but his brown eyes are closed as he perches elegantly on the bench, arms folded across his chest.

At first Matthew thinks he has dozed off until Noah murmurs, eyes still closed, "You know, I care about my brother a lot."

Matthew glances across the park where Lars and Margot seem to be arguing over something on the menu.

"That's...good." he replies awkwardly. Noah opens one eye to examine him.

"He talks about you, and his eyes light up." Noah continues impassively. "I'd be _very upset_ if for some reason he was hurt over this."

Matthew sits very still, disbelieving. Not even two hours in and he is being threatened by his lover's brother. This is a very strange day.

"I would, too." he says honestly, drumming his fingers on his leg. "I - I hope that I can convince you that I love your brother and care about him and, well, I've been waiting for this since the 18th century."

Noah arches an eyebrow, but Margot and Lars are already coming back with food. Matthew interprets Noah's silence as being unimpressed, and feels slightly foolish until Lars hands him a bowl of poutine.

"Here," he says. "Margot wanted to try it so she got some for everyone."

"What _is_ this?" Noah asks his sister, staring down at the concoction she has given him, a look of horror edging its way into his normal, placid expression.

Matthew doesn't see what all the fuss is about - he has eaten stranger things in Europe, after all, and starts on his poutine with gusto. Lars, the darling, also begins eating (albeit hesitantly) in support. Noah picks up a soggy fry topped by a cheese curd.

"I don't understand this." he says simply in horrified exasperation. Even _Margot_ looks cowed.

"D-don't be silly!" she finally laughs. "Just _try_ it, Lux!"

It is unintentionally hilarious, watching elegant and refined Noah trying to eat fries with gravy and cheese. Matthew feels bad for laughing - Noah gives him a cross look as he wipes gravy off his nose with as much dignity as he has left. Lars teases Margot about her rather unlady-like way of eating poutine, to which Margot exclaims that it doesn't matter because it's delicious so _stop laughing, Lars_!

Matthew is reminded of his family a bit, except with more playful bantering and less murderous intent; the thought brings a smile to his face. Lars catches him spacing out and wipes a bit of gravy onto the young nation's lips before kissing it off. Noah wrinkles his nose. Margot dabs more gravy onto the tip of it, just to spite her brother.

After they finish, Noah leaves half of his poutine and excuses himself to use the restroom. After he has been gone for five minutes, Margot concludes that he is either retching in the toilet or has lost track of the time fixing his hair so she orders Lars to go check on him. Then she turns to Matthew with a sweet smile.

"I think you're a really neat guy, Mathieu," she tells him, moving closer. Matthew is having a strange sense of deja vu. "Lars deserves to have someone in his life, and thankfully you're not as obnoxious as your brother."

Matthew feels as though he should thank her - before he can, Margot continues.

"I know we don't talk much, especially not since the Wars, but I want you to know that I almost approve of you."

"Almost?" Matthew repeats quizzically, and Margot pats his hand.

"It's still early!" she assures him, and won't say anything more about it.

Noah, returning from the washroom with a bit more colour in his face, is duly horrified to learn that there was a pavilion not far away that offered a wide array of cultural foods from around the world while he was stuck eating strange Quebecois food. Matthew, who is starting to feel a little insulted on behalf of his poutine, tells him there is a beer tent as well. At this Noah lights up and admits that is better than nothing. When they reach the tent, Lars goes off in search of the washrooms while Noah insists that _he_ will choose what they have this time, thank you very much Margot.

Margot pouts but follows her brother up to the front as he orders. After a while Matthew notices they have not come back - instead, Margot and Noah, each holding two beers, are whispering amongst themselves; then Margot turns to the bartender with a rather radiant and suspiciously flirtatious smile. They exchange words, and Matthew is bewildered when Margot turns to point straight at him.

When Margot and Noah return to the table Noah tells him, "The bartender wants to see your ID."

"Oh." Understandable - Matthew usually gets carded because of his youthful appearance. Wallet in hand, he stands and approaches the bartender. He guesses the man is in his early twenties, with brown hair that sticks up in waves, blue eyes and a lip ring on his full pouty lips. He gives Matthew a _look_ as he approaches.

"Hey," the bartender says, voice husky. "Sorry, just need to see some ID."

"Sure, it's no problem." Matthew hands it to him and waits as he looks it over.

"Matthew, huh?" the other man asks with a grin, and Matthew shifts nervously, giving a weak smile in return.

"Nice name," he continues. "My name's Lucas."

"Nice to meet you." Matthew mumbles, reaching out his hand for his card back. Lucas makes no move to give it back to him, instead staring at him intensely from beneath his fringe of bangs. His tongue darts out to play with his lip ring.

"A cute guy like you must have a boyfriend, huh?" Lucas asks. Matthew laughs, a little too loud.

"Er, yeah. Listen, I've got to get back to my friends - "

"Hey, what's the hurry?" Lucas catches his hand, giving him a teasing wink. "I'll buy you a drink, we'll get to know each other."

"Sorry, I'm not interested." Matthew replies tersely, snatches back his ID, and returns to the table.

Lars is back from the bathroom, and Matthew sits as close to him as possible. Noah and Margot are staring at him as if expecting something.

Matthew raises his eyebrows at them and they look away with rather triumphant expressions on their faces.

* * *

After the beer tent they head over to Parliament Hill, where Margot takes pictures of his Parliament building with her cell phone. This causes Lars to make some innuendoes, for which he is promptly slapped by both his sister and his boyfriend. Then they head to Major's Hill Park to catch a concert. Margot tells Matthew about her people's alternative music scene and Noah jumps in to add recommendations about several good Luxembourg bands. They are in the middle of a crowd, enjoying the music, so it takes Matthew a while to realize they've lost Lars in the mass of people.

"Go back that way and see if you can find him," Margot instructs. "Noah and I will meet you by that far pavilion."

Matthew agrees and they separate.

Lars turns out to be a few feet away, talking excitedly to a man Matthew instantly recognizes as the beer tent bartender, Lucas, and the young nation feels a curious, hot flush spread throughout his body.

Lucas is standing very, very close to Lars, in the way people do when they have a candid interest in someone, hip cocked, shoulders thrown back, a dazzling smile on his face. If Lars has noticed the interest the other man is showing, he doesn't react. Instead he laughs at something Lucas has said and nods. Matthew feels his ears go red.

Then, Lucas motions to the piercing in his lip and, _right there where Matthew can see_, puts his finger on Lars's bottom lip as if to indicate where a good spot to put a ring was.

Matthew sees red and storms over, hooking his arm with Lars's.

"Lars." he says in a tight voice. "C'mon, your sister's waiting - "

"Oh, it's you!" Lucas looks pleased, looking Matthew up and down, eyebrows raised. "Is this your boyfriend?"

"Yes, he is _my boyfriend_." Matthew grinds out. Lars looks torn halfway between confusion and amusement.

Lucas reaches into his pocket for a marker and takes Lars's hand. Matthew makes a noise akin to an angry squirrel as the man scribbles down a number.

"Give me a call if monogamy gets too _boring_ for you two." Lucas purrs, and Matthew jerks Lars away.

"_Shove off, you hoser_!" he hisses before dragging the Dutch country away from the other man.

Lars is laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes. He doesn't stop even when Matthew seizes his hand, licks his own thumb and rubs viciously at the marker on the Dutch nation's skin.

"Darling, I never knew you could get so jealous!" Lars teases. Matthew reaches up, cups his hand behind Lars's head, and kisses him in return. Lars doesn't hesitate in returning it, rubbing up against him as they are jostled in the crowd.

"Maybe you should get jealous more often," he suggests huskily as they part. "It's hot on you."

Matthew flushes. "I didn't - it's just - " he tries to explain, but Lars shakes his head, grinning.

"Oh no, the innocent act doesn't fool me anymore." he waggles his finger at the younger country, who is turning a deep shade of scarlet. "I know that, underneath, there's a raging, passionate little beast just waiting to get out."

"C-come off it!" Matthew insists, trying to push away from Lars. Lars keeps him easily pressed against his side.

"Passive aggressive my ass." Lars snorts into Matthew's hair. "You're just downright _aggressive_."

"Am not." Matthew argues, though he winds his arms around Lars's waist and squeezes a bit tighter than he should. This prompts Lars to laugh again, in Matthew's ear.

"Right." Lars sighs. "Almost four hundred years and you haven't changed a bit, _konijn_."

Matthew pouts, though he can't exactly disagree with the older man's statement. Over Lars's shoulder he sees Margot saunter up to Lucas, who is standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets. She gives him a wadded up bill which he accepts with a flirtatious smile. Matthew decides to never get on Margot's bad side when she looks over at him and gives him a thumbs up.

"Margot planned this, didn't she?" Lars asks, not even looking over at his sister. When Matthew nods, he exhales loudly. "Well, I think you passed the family initiation, at least." he offers.

Matthew does not feel comforted.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passes pleasantly enough, now that Margot and Noah have been sufficiently reassured that no, Matthew has _not_ inherited Francis's tendency to hit on strangers and is in no danger of leaving Lars for a pretty face. Matthew feels a bit stung that they could not gather that from earlier encounters, but just feels thankful that they have accepted him. Noah has, throughout the day, become increasingly more inebriated as they go from event to event - as they walk back up towards Matthew's house in the early evening, the young nation keeps a hold on the other's waist as he sways up the walk. Noah is trying to tell him about his annexation by France in the tone one uses when they're attempting to convince everyone else they are not drunk. Matthew finds his story hard to follow, since the man is gradually doing most of his recounting in Luxemburgish. Holding up Noah on the other side, Lars rolls his eyes in a way that conveys years of suffering. Margot is on Lars's other side, looking decidedly amused at the whole situation.

"He doesn't usually drink that much," she explains as they stop on Matthew's front step. "He's a bit of a lightweight."

"_Prost_!" Noah tells her cheerfully, and gives her the one fingered salute. Margot swats his hand away.

"Thank you very much for putting up with us." she tells Matthew, helping him wriggle away from Noah's grip, and throwing her older brother's arm over her shoulders. "Just so you know, I approve."

"Thank you..." Matthew says uncertainly as Margot leans over to kiss his cheeks. "It was nice seeing you again."

"Oh, definitely!" Margot chirps, hefting Noah's weight more securely onto her frame. "Maybe at the next meeting we can get together for coffee afterwards?"

"S-sure." Matthew grins, a little awkward as Noah attempts to sling his arm around the northern nation again and tries to press his face against Matthew's - he is held back by Lars.

"_Äddi_!" he smiles, patting Matthew on the cheek. "_Schéinen Dag nach_!"

"Ah, yeah." Matthew puts a hand on Noah's shoulder. "You too?"

Noah waggles his fingers at him as Margot drags him back down the walkway. Out of politeness Matthew had offered up his guest room for Lars's siblings but Margot, with a sly look at Lars out of the corner of her eye, had insisted that she and Noah wanted to stay at the Fairmont Château Laurier, take in the sights before leaving for Europe, adding that she was sure Matthew and Lars would want some _alone time_.

Matthew and Lars stand side by side, waving as Margot and Noah get into their sleek car and drive away. Matthew turns to ask Lars a question but is immediately kissed so hard his knees go weak.

"You are a _saint_." Lars tells him with a note of admiration in his voice. "You put up with my siblings _and_ you put up with Noah when he was drunk. I love you. Seriously."

Matthew laughs. "They're not that bad!" he insists as Lars makes a series of faces at him to express his displeasure, snaking one arm around the younger's waist. His fingers dip lower, toying with the waistline of Matthew's jeans.

Matthew feels his face heat up. "Uhm, so, I hope you had a nice time?" he asks in a rush. "I mean, this festival is held every year and I know you must have festivals like that every year back home and I just wanted - " _you to be impressed _is what he wants to say, but Lars grins and cups his face in one hand.

"I enjoyed spending time with you." he says sincerely. "And your Festival was rockin'. Just saying."

Matthew flushes, but this time with happiness at Lars's praise. Lars laughs.

"So cute!" he murmurs happily, pressing a kiss to Matthew's temple. "I'm not sure what is cuter - this or when you were jealous." he snickers at Matthew's glare. "Yeah, I'm never going to let that go, _konijn_."

Wickedly, Matthew tilts his head up and stares at Lars's lips. "You know," he remarks off-handedly, letting a grin slip onto his face. "You should get a lip ring."

"Yeah?" Lars narrows his eyes, a marginal gesture that Matthew catches. His fingers drift up to touch his lips. Matthew nods, grinning knowingly.

"Yeah! You know, I thought that guy Lucas looked pretty cute with that piercing." he continues. Lars snorts, tilting his nose up.

"I didn't notice." he says, and Matthew bites back a laugh.

"Uh-huh," he confirms. "He wasn't actually that bad looking, he had really nice eyes..."

Lars pushes him up against the door, snapping something in Dutch. Matthew loves it when Lars speaks Dutch - it growls against his ears deliciously, and Matthew arches against the other nation.

"M-mmm, and _I'm_ the jealous one?" he laughs. Lars dips his hand into Matthew's pocket to pull out his house key, and keeps one knee between the northern nation's legs as he fumbles for the lock.

"_So not funny_, Matthew." Lars grunts, nipping at Matthew's neck in a way that tells the younger nation Lars is a little ticked off.

"Sorry?" Matthew offers with a hesitant grin. Lars smiles in return, a dark smirk that is far too reminiscent of his colonial days. Matthew feels hot heat at the sight of that grin. He laughs weakly. "A-ah, Lars..."

Lars grabs hold of Matthew's ass (eliciting a yelp from the boy), and lifts him bodily off the ground. Matthew wraps his legs around Lars's waist to keep himself steady, and presses up against the door. Lars starts a rocking motion, rutting himself against his lover, and Matthew's jacket rubs up and down against the wood, eliciting a friction Matthew can feel throughout his whole body

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?" Matthew asks. Lars continues to grin. That answers Matthew's question.

An hour later, Matthew is left panting, nuzzling his nose into Lars's neck. Lars is wearing that shit-eating grin and, for once, Matthew thinks that he has a right to.

"Lucas can go fuck himself." Lars tells him cheerfully, hand playing over Matthew's bare chest.

"A-Amen." Matthew sighs, pressing a kiss to the underside of Lars's jaw.

The Dutch nation looks rather pleased with himself.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Prost_! = Luxemburgish for "cheers!"

_Äddi_ = Luxemburgish for "Goodbye"

_Schéinen Dag nach_! = Luxemburgish for "Have a nice day!"

**Historical/General Notes:**

Margot = Belgium and Noah = Luxembourg. According to Finland, Luxembourg "has a family that was once said to rival the famed Hapsburg line. A very elegant person!" I tried to make him sort of true to that very vague description....

According to my (brief) research, the Netherlands declared independence from the Spanish Empire in 1581, and their independence was recognized in 1648. Belgium's independence from the Netherlands was recognized in 1839, and Luxembourg's independence from the French empire was in 1815. Just going by that, in my head canon Lars is the eldest, Luxembourg is the middle kid and Belgium is the baby sister.

The Ottawa Tulip Festival is held every year in Canada's capital city over the course of eighteen days in May. There's live entertainment, pavilions, cultural food, you name it. It celebrates the incident in 1945 when the Dutch royal family sent 100 000 tulip bulbs to Ottawa, in thanks for the shelter Canada gave to Princess Juliana and her daughters. When Princess Juliana became queen she vowed to send tulip bulbs to Ottawa annually for as long as she reigned.

Commissioner's Park is where the largest amount of tulips are planted, 300 000 apparently. It is also home to the statue The Man With Two Hats (upload . wikimedia . org / wikipedia / commons / b / b5 / Man_With_Two_Hats_Ottawa_Statue . jpg) that was unveiled by Princess Margriet in 2002. There is an identical one in Apeldoorn and represents the joy and celebration of freedom of the Liberation of the Netherlands. I think it's sweet.

"Matthew brushes against the gold band on Lars's right thumb" - well, Matthew had to give Lars SOMETHING to say thank you for the rabbit pendant. Lars teased him for weeks about them being engaged.

Poutine is a Quebecois dish of fries with gravy and cheese curds, which is absolutely delicious. A few years ago I went to Quebec for the summer to a language exchange. I was in a small town and they had a little roadside restaurant called "Cantine D'Amour" that served the best poutine of life. As a Western-Canadian, the poutine I was used to eating was made with shredded cheese. It is supposed to be made with cheese curds, or "squeaky cheese". Now I cannot eat poutine without cheese curds. This makes me sad because everywhere I go, they make poutine with shredded cheese D: It's a travesty, and this was a pointless story. BUT now you know!

I always think people who are refined when sober makes the funniest drunks because you totally don't expect their attitude to be so....yeah. Since Luxembourg is supposed to be an "elegant person", I suppose he might be a little more "vocal" when he's had a few.

_This_ is Fairmont Château Laurier - fairmont . com / laurier / Photos /

Pretty posh, don't you think?

**Author's Note: **I am one chapter away from being done with this story. I am actually pretty excited to finish, not going to lie!


	8. Routine Checkup Part Two

**Title:** Only Light and Momentary

**Author:** tatterdemalion

**Characters/Pairings: **The relationship between Canada and the Netherlands (OC) will take centre stage - however, other characters involved in their relations will also appear.

**Rated:** It varies. Probably PG-13 for this chapter.

**Summary:** A chronicle of Matthew's relationship with Lars, from 1611 to present day. In this chapter, modern day, the end of the chronicle, as well as a brief epilogue set in the near future. No historical context in this, either!

* * *

Matthew has decided, within twenty minutes of arriving, that he is never doing the "meet the family" charade again. Ever. What was the point?

_"Oh Arthur, Francis, do you remember Lars? He beat up your troops once, tried to elbow his way into the New World?"_

It would have helped, Matthew thinks sourly, if Belgium didn't have such a big _mouth_. If she hadn't chatted up Arthur during one world meeting, squealing about how his little once-colony was running such a "fine country", and how pleased she was that Matthew was dating her brother, and, "England? What's wrong, you've gone all red!", none of this would have happened.

Arthur wouldn't have confronted him in front of several startled nations demanding an explanation and responding to Matthew's bewilderment with a, "Well _yes_ I had suspicions, but I never thought you'd actually _be_ - " accompanied by some indignant spluttering. The news had moved quickly to Spain, to France, to Seychelles, to America, to even _Australia_, for God's sake, Matthew barely _talked_ to his cousin because of time zones but suddenly everyone and their neighbor was phoning him up and he had felt at the time that an appeasement dinner was inevitable.

They meet at a nice restaurant in London. Matthew's entire family (well, not _entire_ family, that'd take up at least three tables!) is shoved into one side of the booth, leaving Lars and Matthew on the other side to be examined. Arthur has a strained sort of smile on his face, more of a _grimace_, really, and he is leafing through the menu with the sort of intense concentration one has when they'd rather be elsewhere. Francis is staring at the two of them with a rather despairing look on his face, chin propped up on his hand with a hang-dog pout.

Even _Alfred_, who Matthew had expected not to care in the slightest _who_ his baby brother was shacking up with, had arrived at the restaurant, shrugged off his jacket, took one look at Lars and exclaimed, "_This_ guy? I remember him! Really, Mattie, _this guy_?"

Lars, for his part, has a look on his face like he has swallowed something unpleasant and it is attempting to crawl back up his throat. His knee is jammed up against Matthew's as if to convey his great dislike of the situation.

Matthew can sympathize.

The waiter arrives, and as Francis and Arthur start arguing over what to eat, Matthew takes the opportunity to lean over and murmur into Lars's ear, "What did I promise you if you came here with me, again?"

"That I could eat _Stroopwafels_ off your various body parts." Lars replies, a reluctant grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Still worth it?" Matthew asks, as Alfred shoots them a suspicious look.

Lars chuckles. "Oh, yeah." he confirms. "The mental images are pretty much the only things getting me through this."

Matthew flushes red and is about to say something back when Alfred throws a menu at them.

"Your turn to order, Mattie!" he says loudly. Lars looks like he doesn't know whether to laugh at Alfred or smack him. Under the table, Matthew squeezes his knee reassuringly as he orders.

Once the waiter has left, Arthur fixes them with a stern, parental, "I'm going to kill both of you if you don't tell me what's going on" sort of look. Even Lars, who has never had the misfortune of being Arthur's colony, loses a bit of his bravado.

"So how long, exactly, has this been going on?" Arthur asks - when Matthew makes a move to answer, he adds, "I'd like it if Lars answered, thank you Matthew."

Uh-oh. Matthew _knows_ how to deal with Arthur, and he knows the answer he should be giving is "any year _after_ the Constitution" unless he wishes the island nation to become very, very angry in a very short amount of time.

Lars, however, _didn't_ know this, and Matthew wouldn't put it past him to try and rile England up.

"Oh, I don't know," Lars says, glancing at Matthew. "It was sort of a gradual thing."

_Thank God_, Matthew thinks silently, but then Lars adds, "Francis, you remember that letter you sent me...?"

Francis's stare could kill kittens. Matthew sinks lower into his seat.

"You had better not be insinuating what I think you are insinuating." Francis says in a very low voice that is unlike him. Lars grins.

"And what exactly would I be insinuating?" he asks cheerfully. Alfred looks confused.

"What letter?" he asks Francis, but the Gallic nation has seized Arthur's arm and is shaking him.

"I _told_ you we should have had "the talk" with him sooner!" he hisses. Arthur looks appalled.

"I think _I_ chose a very good time to do so!" he maintains. Matthew waves his hands at them.

"No, no, we didn't..._do_ anything then!" he exclaims frantically. "Papa, _please_ be reasonable."

Francis crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. No dice.

"When'd you guys do it then?" Alfred asks curiously, leaning over the table. Matthew blushes and avoids answering by taking a drawn out sip from his water glass.

"1870." Lars tells him proudly, as if recounting an accomplishment. Matthew groans. Arthur looks furious. Alfred laughs.

"Were you a virgin that long, Mattie?" he asks, and both Arthur and Matthew splutter at the same time.

"_Wait a minute_!" the island nation shrieks. "What do you mean_ that long_?"

"I, uh..." Alfred looks elsewhere. Arthur rolls his eyes heavenward.

"My God." he groans. "I'm a horrible parent."

"I know." Francis says cattily, and is kicked under the table by Matthew.

"No, no, Arthur," Matthew soothes, reaching across the table to pat his father figure/imperial influence awkwardly on the shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong, eh? It's just, it felt right, at the time."

"_At the time_." Arthur repeats with a snarl. "_At the time_, you were only three years into your Constitution. You were a child."

"I was old enough to make my own decisions!" Matthew exclaims.

"You can't blame the boy for being star-struck in his early years." Francis says to Arthur, laying a hand on his forearm. "Anyone who takes advantage of a country when they are that young and influential should be the one receiving the blame."

_Ouch_. Lars's eyes narrow. "Your ways of subtlety are astounding, Francis, truly awe-inspiring." he drawls. "Your well-placed sense of irony, too."

"Please!" Matthew says over them. "I just want to have dinner with all of you _without_ this turning into a big argument. For once. Okay? I love all of you and I'm staying with Lars regardless of what the three of you say, but I respect you enough to come here and let you know. So let's just..." he searches for a topic. "Talk about something else."

There is silence. Alfred starts, "My boss - "

"I've heard enough of _that_, thank you!" Arthur snaps and Alfred stops, startled. "That is _not_ the issue I want to discuss now."

"This isn't an _issue_, Arthur." Matthew corrects sternly. "This is a discussion. A _friendly_ discussion. It's 2009, you're _not_ colonizing anything, so there's no need to hold onto your past animosity."

Francis mouths something at Lars that looks suspiciously like, "You still owe me _furs_." Matthew despairs. The waiter hovers as if he has missed something.

It is like watching a playground fight - as the food arrives, Lars, Francis, and Arthur exchange heated glares. Matthew sends a helpless glance Alfred's way. The expression on Alfred's face reminds Matthew that he is not the only one "in deep shit" - he imagines that once they leave the restaurant Alfred is going to get the third degree about _why_, exactly, the 19th century was "too late" for one to lose their virginity (Alfred can't help it, Matthew thinks, if Spain was particularly amorous that century...)

Matthew grasps desperately for a conversation that _doesn't_ end in thinly veiled jabs at other people's expansion attempts - when Lars's food arrives, a brightly coloured chili dish, Matthew expresses interest in it, if only to break the silence. Lars tries to feed him some, holding up his fork with a teasing smile, but then Arthur "accidentally" upturns his water glass, effectively ending _that_ strand of conversation. Matthew sends him a tired look from across the table.

Lars has mellowed over the years, but the younger nation can see the glint of irritation growing in his lover's eyes. This worries him and he sets a calming hand on Lars's knee. The Dutch nation covers it with his own.

Arthur finally stands up halfway through and announces he is going to the washroom. Lars looks a bit better until Matthew says he needs to go, too.

Arthur has _not_, he discovers, gone to the washroom - instead, he has gone out the back door, fumbling around in his jacket pocket. Matthew, slipping out behind him, spots a crumpled pack of cigarettes in the island nation's hand.

"I thought you quit?" Matthew asks gently - Arthur still jumps, guilt on his face, stuffing the pack into his pocket. One cigarette dangles, unlit, from his lips.

Arthur snorts. "Once in a while, if I get too stressed, I feel it's fine to indulge." he replies, fingers slipping over his lighter. He lights the cigarette and takes a deep inhale, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth. Matthew watches him, leaning up against the side of the restaurant.

"Is the dinner really that horrible, that you have to sneak out the back in order to have a smoke?" Matthew asks, no accusation in his tone. Arthur's eyebrows furrow in embarrassment and he looks off to the side.

"W-well," he grumbles. "I admit it's not the most _comfortable_ dinner I've ever had..."

Matthew sighs; Arthur bristles. "Look," the island nation continues, "It's not the situation...I mean, he isn't the type I would have thought you'd _go_ for.." Arthur pauses, choosing his words. "And I'm not exactly sure I like your choice, but I suppose I'll have to get used to it. You know I'm not really partial to _change_, Matthew."

"I know." Matthew smiles. "Thank you for trying."

Arthur turns red, and he drops his barely started cigarette to the ground, scuffing it out.

"I would hope," he says gruffly. "That I raised you well enough so you can see _what_, exactly, you're getting yourself into." he shakes his head, waves his hand above him as if clearing the smoke away.

"You _did_ raise me well," Matthew agrees. "Better than I could ever hope for."

Arthur now resembles one of Antonio's tomatoes; he runs an awkward hand through his hair.

"Well, of course I can't be held responsible for any...adolescent lapses of judgement," he harrumphs. "But rest assured if he ever does anything to upset you, I will personally take responsibility for his immediate castration."

No one has ever offered to remove someone's dangly bits for Matthew. He feels touched, in an odd, "my family is messed up" sort of way.

"Thank you, Arthur." he says. "I mean it, I really appreciate you coming tonight..."

Arthur is waving away his words like he did with the smoke. "Don't think anything of it," he dismisses. "I only want to see my boys happy."

It is Matthew's turn to flush.

When they return to the table, Lars and Francis have ordered drinks, which is not a good sign, and look ready to down them, which is an even _worse_ sign. Alfred looks simultaneously eager for the contest to begin and embarrassed to be seen with the two of them.

When Matthew slides into the booth he hisses at Lars, "_What are you doing_?!"

"Relax, _konijn_," Lars answers him with a very tight smile. "It's just a little friendly competition."

"Friendly comp - we're _in public_." Arthur jabs Francis with his elbow as he talks.

Francis swats him off irritably. "It is not the most _sophisticated_ of competitions..." he admits grudgingly.

"I suggested mud wrestling." Alfred chimes in.

"You _would_." Matthew mutters under his breath, then asks Francis, "Look, what do I have to do to convince you that I've made the right choice for myself?"

"It is not _you_ that has to convince us, _cher_." Francis assures. Lars bristles; Matthew grabs his shoulder before the Dutch nation says anything nasty.

"But you're sort of insulting my judgement too, eh?" Matthew adds quietly. "I like to think I choose my friends wisely."

Alfred mutters something that sounds like, "_C__uba_" and Matthew turns on him with an affronted look.

"Alfred, Cuba's gotten better recently! Just because you and he have a bit of bad history..."

"He harbored missiles for Russia!" Alfred exclaims.

"Are you going to hold that above him forever??" Matthew demands. The three others at the table turn their heads back and forth between the brothers like a fucked up game of ping pong. "You tried to invade _me_ in 1812, you think I still hold _that_ against you?"

Alfred splutters. "That is not the same thing and you know it, Mattie!"

"Why not?" Matthew demands. "We're old, we've all had things happen to us that were less than fair, and at times we've participated in things that were less than fair, too! G-God, I couldn't even look Kiku in the eyes for _ages _after the war! We have all the time in the world to let go of our grudges but we insist on holding onto them anyways. I'm sick of it!"

It is only when the silence stretches uncomfortably across the table does Matthew realize his voice has gotten progressively louder. All four of his companions are staring.

Matthew stands. "Excuse me." he mumbles, and leaves the table.

* * *

Lars watches Matthew worriedly, ready to stand to pursue him, but Arthur reaches out to stop him.

"Wait," he says hesitantly. "Let's...I think we should have a talk."

Reluctantly, Lars settles back in his seat and examines the three men across from him.

"All right, listen." he says. "I know you don't like me. Frankly, my feelings towards you are lukewarm at best. But I really want to try and make this work, for Matt if nothing else." he turns to look at Arthur. "Sorry about that whole Orange thing. To be fair, it's not like I really _invaded_ you, with pillaging and raping and stuff. And it was still legitimate."

"Barely." Arthur mutters, but his face is softer than his words, which gives Lars hope.

Lars turns to Francis, who looks unimpressed. "As for you..." he trails off, thinking. "I'm not actually sorry for anything I did to _you_. But I think we're pretty much even now."

"_Even_ - ?" Francis scoffs, before he is elbowed once again.

"And I helped you smuggle _tea._" Lars reminds Alfred, who flushes.

"T-that was a long time ago!" the blonde laughs, avoiding Arthur's eyes.

"And yeah, I'll admit it, I did some shitty things in the past," Lars admits, leaning his elbows on the table. "It's not like I'm _hiding_ that fact. I know you don't trust me and that's fine - but Matthew does, and that's all I care about. So I want to offer you a truce. I want to be as civil as I can, for Matthew, if nothing else."

Alfred is the first to speak up. "I'll do it, for Mattie." he says. Beside him, Arthur nods. Francis tucks his hair behind his ear and sighs.

"_Oui_, you make a good point." he admits. "I suppose, _bien sûr_, if Mathieu is happy that is all I can ask for."

They shake hands - a gentleman's agreement.

"Don't think I won't be keeping an eye on you." Francis adds afterwards.

"Noted." Lars replies cooly.

There are a few seconds of silence before Arthur rolls his eyes and points in the direction Matthew went.

"Well don't just _sit_ there." he says primly. "Go _get_ him, for Christ's sake! Dessert's about to arrive."

Lars has never been so eager to follow Arthur Kirkland's orders.

Matthew is in the men's washroom, doing what Lars calls his "Level Two Passive Aggressive Rant" - i.e., he is running the water in the sink with no consideration of whether other people would like to wash their hands or not, glowering at his reflection in the mirror and muttering things under his breath in French, none of which sound very nice.

Lars leans against one of the stalls and their eyes lock in the mirror. Matthew's jaw tightens and he looks away, turning off the sink in the process.

"Matthew, I'm sorry." Lars says, coming up behind him - Matthew lets the Dutch nation wrap arms around him. "I know you really wanted this dinner to go over well, and I kind of fucked it up by being petty. All of us did."

Matthew exhales, and shakes his head. "No, it's okay." he assures. "Really. I guess - I guess I was just embarrassed because I had met _your_ siblings and nothing like _this_ happened. And I just get angry because - " here Matthew pauses, bites his lip. Lars rests his chin on the younger's shoulder, silently urging him to continue. " - because usually they never care about anything I do, and it sucks that they chose _this_ moment to act like they have a say in my l-life."

Lars spins him around and kisses him soundly on the cheek, ignoring Matthew's strangled yelp.

"My poor _konijn_." he murmurs. Matthew lets out a frustrated, teary laugh and tries to slip from his arms. Lars holds fast.

"It's not important," the northern nation insists, pushing at him, face bright red. "I know it's stupid to think that, and I'm being silly and Lars _get off_, stop _kissing me_ - !"

"I think you don't see _how much_ they love you." Lars tells him, arms around his wriggling lover. "They want what's best for you, and if that means harassing your suitor than that's what they'll do."

Matthew looks everywhere but at Lars. "...You're hardly my _suitor_ anymore." he mumbles. Lars grins.

"But I feel bad that they're acting like this!" Matthew adds after a few seconds. "I mean, your siblings - "

"Are you kidding? I was _mortified_ when Lux got drunk." Lars admits. "I thought you'd never want to see my family again."

"But that was funny!" Matthew protests, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"And I think it's funny that England is getting all up in arms about us dating and how you could do better when in reality he would never approve of _any_ nation because he knows none of them could ever be good enough to date _you_."

Matthew pauses. "He said that?" he asks hesitantly. Lars smiles and kisses his forehead.

"It's obvious," he replies kindly. "It's a pity you can't see it."

Matthew laughs, softer now, and nuzzles his shoulder with tenderness.

"What would I do without you, Lars?" he asks. Lars shakes his head, smoothing back the wispy curl of Matthew's hair.

"A lot more, I think." he sighs. At Matthew's quizzical glance, he shakes his head, finally releasing the younger nation. "Never mind. I just think that Arthur and I finally agree on something. No one could ever be good enough for you, Matt. Not even me."

"Sh-shut up!" Matthew shoves Lars's shoulder, blushing. "That's not true, you moron. _I'm_ lucky to have _you_, if anything!" he turns back to the mirror, running a hand through his hair, fixing his collar absently. His reflection smiles at Lars, violet eyes bright, and it makes Lars's heart swell with happiness.

"I love you." Lars says, and Matthew looks over his shoulder at him.

"I know." he teases, adding, "I love you, too."

* * *

The dinner ends much better than it starts, when the two of them return to the table - Matthew seems delighted at the truce that has settled over his four guests, and that seems enough to keep the peace.

Lars waits by the car while Matthew says goodbye to his family. He kisses Francis's cheek, hugs his brother, and looks surprised to receive an embrace from Arthur.

"Thanks for coming," he tells them sincerely. "I really appreciate it."

"Don't thank us!" Alfred crows, clapping his brother on the back. "You know we have to approve all your boyfriends, right?"

"No you don't!" Matthew exclaims, horrified. Francis chuckles and runs a hand through his former charge's hair.

"Mathieu, you be careful," he advises. "If you ever need to call, my phone is always on."

"Th-thanks, Papa." Matthew smiles, and Francis coos at the title as he tries to fix his hair.

Arthur clears his throat and pats Matthew's shoulder. "We shouldn't keep you," he says. "Good luck, Matthew. Sorry for any trouble we caused."

"No trouble at all." Matthew assures. "You are my family, after all."

After a few more goodbyes, they separate. Matthew approaches Lars with a tired look on his face.

"I feel drained every time I get together with them," he admits as they embrace. "But it's a good sort of drained. They're all so..._energetic_, I guess is the word."

"That is one word you could use." Lars mutters. Matthew muffles his snort into Lars's lapel.

They take the car back to their hotel - Matthew keeps a hand entwined with Lars, letting go only when the Dutch man absolutely needs it in order to drive. Lars collapses on the couch when they arrive, watching Matthew put the chain on the door. When the northern nation turns, Lars pats the couch.

"Sit down for a minute, Matthew." he urges and, rolling his eyes fondly, the blonde obeys, lying down on the couch with his head in Lars's lap.

Lars runs his fingers through Matthew's hair a couple of times, following the natural waves of his hair. Matthew gives a little sigh and his eyelashes flutter sleepily.

"S'nice." he yawns, reaching up to stroke Lars's face. Lars looks down at him with a smile.

"Getting sleepy, _lieverd_?" he asks. Matthew grins tiredly, and nods.

"Hmm." he agrees. "I'm really tired...sorry, I should probably..."

Lars laughs and kisses his brow. "Don't worry, we can do something tomorrow." he assures. "Come on, just stay awake for a couple more minutes and we'll get you to bed."

Matthew is a bundle of tired limbs and relaxed muscles, and he flops down on the bed with a dreamy smile on his face, laughing at Lars as the Dutch man attempts to remove his shoes.

"Just leave 'em, I don't care." Matthew says, twisting his body to nuzzle into a pillow. Lars unbuttons his slacks and tugs them down.

"_I_ care." he argues, and slips an arm under Matthew, pulling him up. "All right, _konijn_, arms _up_..." he pulls Matthew's shirt over his head, and pauses to look over Matthew's sleepy form with something akin to adoration.

"All right, now you can sleep." he tells him, smiling when Matthew grabs at his sleeve.

"You should sleep too." he suggests. "So we - " he interrupts himself with a yawn. " - so we have lots of time to see London."

Lars thinks that he wouldn't mind doing _anything_ as long as Matthew is there, but he nods anyways and curls up next to the boy, shucking down to his boxers and sweeping a hand across his forehead.

"Under the covers, Matthew." he orders, and Matthew obeys, wriggling under them, pressing close to Lars when he joins him.

"Night." Matthew mumbles into his shoulder. Lars nuzzles his hair.

"Night, Mattie. I love you, sleep well."

* * *

On July 1st, 2011, Matthew is woken up by someone pressing kisses to his throat. Groggily, he flings an arm out for his glasses but that someone catches his wrist and pulls it back.

"Hey, it's okay, just lie back and _relax_," Lars whispers, before returning to his neck. Matthew squirms under the touch. He remembers, now, that Lars arrived last night from the airport so they could celebrate Matthew's birthday. They had stayed up late into the night talking, and Lars had brought some alcohol with him to celebrate. Matthew supposed since it was his birthday the next day, he was allowed to celebrate.

"Lars..." he protests, but shuts up when Lars trails fingers up the leg of his boxers.

"Happy Birthday." Lars murmurs. "I hope you like my present."

Then he hands him his glasses and Matthew slips them on.

His entire room is covered with tulips - red and yellow and orange and it is so bizarre that Matthew starts laughing. Lars is straddling him, and _he_ is grinning too.

"I first laid eyes on you in 1611." he tells him. "That was four hundred years ago and I've never regretted meeting you for a second. Through everything, Matthew - the wars, and the distance and the years, I feel so lucky to have you. Happy Birthday, _konijn_. "

Matthew has the sudden urge to tear up - he settles instead for wiping at his nose with the back of his hand and laughing. "Did you seriously go out and buy four hundred tulips, wait until I got drunk enough to pass out, and then put them all in my room?"

Lars laughs in return, though he looks a little less sure of himself. "Yeah," he admits. "...If it's too much, you know, I could get them out of here. I mean, I know we don't have a _formal_ union, not political or anything but I really wanted to - "

Matthew surges upwards so Lars is sitting in his lap, and cuts the Dutch nation off with a kiss. It is slow and sweet and Lars inhales with delight, wrapping his arms around Matthew's neck, leaning in so Matthew is forced to lie down again. Matthew boldly probes with his tongue, coaxing Lars to respond, which he does gladly.

"Thank you." Matthew breathes when they part, resting his forehead against Lars's, their noses touching. "This is the best birthday present anyone's ever gotten me."

Lars flushes with pleasure and leans over his lover, hands on either side of his shoulders, looking into violet eyes that are irrevocably _his_, and this thought brings a rush of warmth through his body.

"Four hundred years," he sighs, "Here's to another four hundred, _konijn_."

The way Matthew pulls him down for another kiss tells Lars that he agrees.

* * *

"_For we, we are not long here_

_Our time is but a breath, so we had better breathe it._

_And I was made to live, I was made to love, I was made to know you_

_Hope is coming for me_" - C.S. Lewis Song, by Brooke Fraser

* * *

**Translations:**

_Lieverd_ - Dutch petname

**General Notes:**

"_I couldn't even look Kiku in the eyes for ages after the war_" - The treatment of Japanese Canadians, especially in the pre-war/war era is not one of Canada's greatest moments...

"_Sorry about that whole Orange thing...And it was still legitimate_" - William of Orange (a house of nobility in the Netherlands) led a "revolution" in 1688, kicked James II off the throne of England, and ascended. He was married to Mary, James's daughter, and was actually in the line of succession to the English throne, though not as high up on the "line" as Mary. However, he still had some legitimate claim to the throne, which made some people at the time happy and others less so. I would imagine Arthur being a stickler for the rule of succession and therefore being a little bit grumpy that William took over, especially as easily as he did. Especially since that meant Lars had a bit of gloating time.

"_And I helped you smuggle tea__" - _When Britain was taxing its colonies, the Americans found it was way cheaper to purchase smuggled Dutch tea (because the Dutch didn't charge export fees) than pay the crazy amount of taxes the Brits wanted. After awhile Britain was like, "All right, so we'll cut down on the taxes, just please stop buying Dutch tea", and it turned out it actually became a little cheaper to buy British tea. But the Americans were all like, "Well, now we just don't like you so we are going to CONTINUE to smuggle in Dutch tea. So there." And then Britain was a pissed off for a bit.

**Author's Note:** It's done. That's amazing, I never would have thought that I could finish this. This story challenged me a lot but in the end I'm glad I saw it through. Thank you so much to everyone who read this story and especially those who reviewed it. Your comments helped a lot at times when I just wanted to give up and go sleep or something. Thanks again (maybe this means that I'll update On the Bound more frequently) (..._that is a lie_)


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